Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting. Be the tree.

I want to tell him that it's just a stupid car, but bits of me are scattered all over town; the graveyard, school, Cassie's room, the motel, and standing in from of the sink in my mother's kitchen. It takes too much energy to gather all the bits together, so I just sit there and watch him implode.

I would never be popular. I didn't want to be; I liked being shy. I'd never be the smartest or the hottest or the happiest. By eighth grade you start to figure out your limits.

To keep up appearances, I stomp my room and slam the door.

Rumors are spread by jealous people

Apologies mean nothing if you don't mean it.

IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding.