"And then I crawled into his unmade bed, wrapping myself in his comforter like a cocoon, surrounding myself with his smell. I took out my cannula so I could smell better, breathing him and out, the scent fading even as I lay there, my chest burning until I couldn't distinguish among the pains."
"He flipped himself onto his side and kissed me. "You're so hot,"I said, my hand still on his leg. "I'm starting to think you have an amputee fetish,"he answered, still kissing me. I laughed."I have an Augustus Waters fetish,"I explained."
"I’m on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend."
"Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well."
"The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had been hours before."
"Maybe 'Okay' will be our 'always'..."