That's it. Gently now," Reagan said to Nellie. "We'll move onto the hard stuff tomorrow." "This...isn't...the hard stuff?" Nellie spit out through gritted teeth. Reagan grinned. "You really hate me right now, don't you?" "Immeasurably." "Good. Give me ten.

When you lose your parents, the sadness doesn't go away. It just changes. It hits you sideways sometimes instead of head-on. Like now.

Faith seems to grab people and not let go, but hope is a double-crosser. It can beat it on you anytime; it's your job to dig in your heels and hang on. Must be nice to have hope in your pocket, like loose change you could jingle through your fingers.

Hamilton awkwardly folded himself into the passenger seat. "Couldn't you get something bigger?" he asked as he banged his knee against the dashboard. "We're supposed to be a diversion," Jonah said. "Got to make an entrance. Can't do that in a minivan, Giganto Boy. Can't do much in a minivan except look about as uncool as it gets." "Hey! My dad drives a minivan." "Snap.

I knew that the deepest of tragedies was simple: to love, and not to be loved in return.

I loved all the parts of him, even the ones I didn't understand.

Never regret trusting someone. It proves you have a heart. But if he turns out to be a lying worm ... I'm not going to waste my time crying. Because I am way too fabulous for that.