Here's my question: What age are you when you're in Heaven?

I’d much rather pretend I’m somewhere else, and any time I open the pages of a book, that happens.

I imagine how cool it would be if all small talk wasn't lies.

Doing the right thing for someone else occasionally means doing something that feels wrong to you.

Any highway . . . they all take you to the same place, don't they?

I have no idea what Andrew might have done, and I do not ask. She believes that I can fix this, and like always, that's enough to make me think that I can. "I'll take care of it,: I say, when what I really mean is: I'll take care of you.

When you don't fit in, you become superhuman. You can feel everyone else's eyes on you, stuck like Velcro. You can hear a whisper about you from a mile away. You can disappear, even when it looks like you're still standing right there. You can scream, and nobody hears a sound. You become the mutant who fell into the vat of acid, the Joker who can't remove his mask, the bionic man who's missing all his limbs and none of his heart. You are the thing that used to be normal, but that was so long ago, you can't even remember what it was like.