He looks like a man who has spent most of his life frowning.

Before we sit down, he puts his mouth next to my ear and says, “I like your hair that way.

Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt

I wipe my face with my sleeve, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content.

You want him to walk?" Caleb demands. "Are you insane?" "Did I shoot him in the leg?" I say. "No. He walks. Where do we go, Peter?

Who cares about everyone? What about me?

I try to catch my breath and calm myself down, but it isn't easy. I was dead. I was dead, and then i wasn't, and why? Because of Peter? Peter? I stare at him. He still looks so innocent, despite all that he has done to prove that he is not. His hair lies smooth against his head, shiny and dark, like we didn't just run for a mile at full speed. His round eyes scan the stairwell and then rest on my face. "What?" he says. "Why are you looking at me like that?" " How did you do it?" I say.