I don't know if I even believe in that anymore. The right guy. The perfect guy. The one. I've lost faith in "the". How do you feel about "a" and "an"? Indifferent. So you're considering a life without articles?

I'm fine," [her dad] said gently. "Back on the horse, Cath.' 'What's the horse?' she sighed, watching him pull on a South High hoodie. 'Jogging? Working too much?' 'Living,' he said, a little too loud. 'Life's the horse.

Nothing was dirty. With Park. Nothing could be shameful. Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.

"What about him?" she’d say, finding an attractive guy to point out while they were standing in the lunch line. "Do you want to kiss him?" "I don’t want to kiss a stranger," Cath would answer. "I’m not interested in lips out of context."

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

God, his chin. She wanted to make an honest woman of his chin. She wanted to lock it down.

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.