It was strange how words meant something when they came out of your mouth. Inside your head they were safe and silent, but once they were outside, people grabbed hold of them.

Life is made up of a series of moments, each one a journey to the end.

I want the people I love to get up and speak about me, and even if you cry it'll be OK. I want you to say honest things.

I wish I had a boyfriend. I wish he lived in the wardrobe on a coat hanger. Whenever I wanted, I could get him out and he'd look at me the way boys do in films, as if I'm beautiful.

I miss him as soon as he goes. When he isn't with me, I think I made him up.

Her face crashes. She hasn't dealt with a single transfusion or lumbar puncture. She wasn't allowed near me for the bone-marrow transplant, but she could have been there for any number of diagnoses, and wasn't. Even her promises to visit more often have faded away with Christmas. It's her turn to taste some reality.

Maybe you should say goodbye, Cal.' 'No.' 'It might be important.' 'It might make her die.