Think of a book special to you, and how much bleaker and poorer your life would be if that one writer had not existed - if that one writer had not, a hundred times or a thousand, made the choice to write. You're going to be that one writer one day for somebody you may never meet. Nobody can write that book you're going to write - that book that will light up and change up a life - but you.

It's Russell Montgomery the Third, actually," said Rusty, still grinning. "But I'd be obliged if you keep that bit of information to yourself." "I don't imagine any of us cares enough to remember," Jared said.

Nick spoke for the first time. "Can I go to the nurse's office too?" Ms. Popplewell looked at him It obviously took her only one look to decide. "No." "I'm traumatized too," Nick claimed, his voice completely flat. "He's a delicate flower," Alan said under his breath.

Jared sidled up. He was not very good at sidling; he was more of a loomer.

Jamie chose that moment to almost fall down the stairs. Mae took his whole weight and grabbed the banister. Seb reached out but Jamie shied away, and Nick gave Jamie a push in the chest that was clearly intended to right him, but that nearly had him toppling over backward. Balance eventually restored to them all, Jamie gave Nick an approving look. "You are my friend," he told him. "Yeah, I am," said Nick. "But these stairs," Jamie said sadly. "They are not my friends.

Actually," Alan said, earnest and clear-eyed, "this is my first time playing poker.

I am in full possession of the amazing power of being sarcastic.