Amanda took the torn page from Maniac. To her, it was the broken wing of a bird, a pet out in the rain.
A baseball bat could not have hit me harder than that smile did. I was sixteen years old. In that time, how many thousands of smiles had been aimed at me? so why did this one feel like the first?
This was the ghetto: where children grow down instead of up.
He's so cute, I can't help myself.
Every name is real. That's the nature of names.
Kids still can be said to live in their own little world. Even if their parents are helicoptering around them, assigning play dates and so forth, I think they're still living in some sense of their own little perceptual worlds.