All of my best friends are dead people. Someday I've got to figure out how that happened.

It was as if something snapped in two deep inside me. My parents-- the people I’d loved the most in the world, the ones I’d always told all my secrets to, the ones I’d wanted to hide with far away from the rest of the world. They had lied, and I couldn’t imagine why. It couldn’t possibly matter why.

I went to him in the doorway and embraced him tightly. "Thank you," I whispered. "You've done so much for us, and we've done nothing for you." "Don't say that." Vic's hands patted my back. "You're my friends. Nothing else to it.

Vic nudged my elbow with his. "You and me are still friends, right? You guys get a joint custody in the divorce. Generous visitations rights." "Divorce?" Despite myself, I laughed. Only Vic could call the aftermath of a bad first date a divorce. We hadn't exactly been friends beforehand, so "still" was an exaggeration, but it would've been mean to point that out. Besides, I liked Vic. "We're still friends." "Excellent. The weirdos have to stick together around here." "Are you calling me a weirdo?" "Highest honor I can bestow.

I'd rather be wrong to set you free than be right to do you harm (162).

People get stupid when they're in love; people want what they can't have; and the years between ages twelve and eighteen always, always suck.

Every single day was just a box on the calendar that I could put a red X through; each one brought me closer to Lucas and to liberty.