I waited a second. Should I? No... but I will.

And as I stood there in the hallway―alone―trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realized the truth: I wasn't worth an explanation―not even a reaction. Not in your eyes.

When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?

Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful.

Whenever I'm out late she makes a sandwich for my school lunch. I always protest and tell her not to, saying I'll make my own when I get home. But she likes it. She says it reminds her of when I was younger and needed her.

Why does it say she has three hundred and twenty friends?" Josh asks. "Who has that many friends?

You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can’t be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re messing with their entire life. Everything. . . affects everything.