She knew I could tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It was her eyes. Despite the thick makeup, they were still dark-rimmed., haunted, and sad. Most of all though, they were familiar. The fact that we were in front of hundreds of strangers changed nothing at all. I'd spent a summer with those same eyes-scared, lost, confused-staring back at me. I would have known them anywhere.

I wasn't very happy in high school: it was a confusing and sort of sad time for me.

So while it seemed like you were seeing everything, you really weren't. Just bits and pieces that looked like a whole.

Every book teaches me something about my process, and they are all challenging in one way or another.

He doesn’t love me. He might still love me as I was at fifteen, when I didn’t know any better. When I trusted everyone. I’m not that person any more. He’s just a boy. He was the first to really hurt me, but he’s just a boy. There were a lot of them.

Everything, in the end, comes down to timing. One second, one minute, one hour could make all the difference.

It was just perfect, just right all at once.