Sometimes,” Sam says, “I can’t tell when you’re lying.” “I never lie,” I lie.

We have about three hours of homework a night, and our evening study period is only two hours, so if you want to spend the break at half-past-nine not freaking out, you have to cram. I'm not sure that the picture of the wide-eyed zombie girl biting out the brains of senior douchebag James Page is part of Sam's homework, bit if it is, his physics teacher is awesome.

If she was going to die, she might as well die sarcastic.

I have no memory of climbing the stairs up to the roof. I don't even know how to get where I am, which is a problem since I'm going to have to get down, ideally in a way that doesn't involve dying.

His eyes look too bright, the way the do in people who are in love, people who are enraged, and people who are completely bonkers.

What an author doesn't know could fill a book.

Once someone's hurt you, it's harder to relax around them, harder to think of them as safe to love. But it doesn't stop you from wanting them.