It's our last chance. No. No, I can't... I, no, I need to believe that it isn't our last chance... Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too.

That girl--all of them--hated Eleanor before they'd even laid eyes on her. Like they'd been hired to kill her in a past life.

He always kept me just on the edge of crazy. Feeling like I wanted him too much, which just made me want him more." "That sounds excruciating.

His parents never talked about how they met, but when Park was younger, he used to try to imagine it. He loved how much they loved each other. It was the thing he thought about when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Not that they loved him--they were his parents, they had to love him. That they loved each other. They didn't have to do that.

For the first time in weeks, Park didn't have that anxious feeling in his stomach on the way home from school, like he had to soak up enough Eleanor to keep him until the next day.

In some cases, she was actively trying not to make friends, though she usually stopped short of being rude. (Uptight, tense, and mildly misanthropic? Yes. Rude? No.)

Take off your glasses." "Why? I thought you liked my glassess." "I love your glasses. I especially love the moment when you take them off.