Back in Georgie's attic, he yanks the phone out of the socket and begins scrolling down the names under dialed calls, praying to anyone who will listen. God. Baby Jesus. Saint Thomas the doubter. Saint Whoever, patron saint of losers. Praying, Please, please, don't let it be true. The first name shatters him. The second makes his head spin.

Your problems are out there. But they're small. They only grow out of proportion when they climb inside your head.

Hannah, do you think that your mum and dad and Tate's mum and dad and my mum and dad and Webb and Tate are all together someplace?' she asks earnestly. I look at Hannah, waiting for the answer. And then she smiles. Webb once said that a Narnie smile was a revelation and, at this moment, I need a revelation. And I get one. 'I wonder,' Hannah says.

He came third in the state for woodwork,” Francesca explains. “We actually had to be proud of him for a whole week. Tough times.

Some of us weren't born for rewards, Froi. We were born for sacrifices.

Great to know that I'm in love with a girl with a cool name." "It's Taylor's middle name.

You blame me for this, don't you?" he says. "I don't need to. You're doing a better job.