How is it I know this little about the boy who says he loves me-

I was angry with him before. I’m not really sure why. Maybe I was just angry that the world had become such a complicated place, that I have never known even a fraction of the truth about it. Or that I allowed myself to grieve for someone who was never really gone, the same way I grieved for my mother all the years I thought she was dead. Tricking someone into grief is one of the cruelest tricks a person can play, and it’s been played on me twice.

You don't have to tell me everything right away, but I have to tell you everything right away? Can't you see how stupid that is?

I am a child. I am two feet tall, and asking if she loves me.

I love you," I say. I said that once, before I went to Erudite headquarters, but he was asleep then. I don't know why I didn't say it when he could hear it. Maybe I was afraid to trust him with something so personal as my devotion. Or afraid that I did not know what it was to love someone. But now I think the scary thing was not saying it before it was too late. Not saying it before it was almost too late for me.

The truth has a way of changing people's plans.

We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.