Nothing is perfect. It's not even good yet. But maybe.

What did you call her?" she asks but I don't think it's her real question.
"Sunshine," I say, and she smiles like she believes it's perfect and she may be the only person other than me who would think so.
"What is she to you?" she whispers. The real question and I know the answer even if I don't know how to say it.
Drew's muffled voice rises up from the floor before I can respond.
"Family," he says.
And he's right.

I stayed in therapy long enough to know that nothing that happened to me was my fault. I didn't do anything to invite it or deserve it. But that just makes it worse. Maybe I don't blame myself for what happened, but when they tell you that something was completely and utterly random, they're also telling you something else. That nothing you do matters. It doesn't matter if you do everything right, if you dress the right way and act the right way and follow all the rules, because evil will find you anyway. Evil's resourceful that way. ... They tell you it was random to make you feel blameless. But all I hear them telling me is that I have no control, and if I have no control, then I'm powerless. I would have preferred being blamed.

I think I’ll stay in pieces. I can shift them, rearrange, depending on the day, depending on what I need to be. I can change on a whim and be so many different girls and none of them has to be me.

Didn't you say she lives in Josh's neighborhood?” Mrs. Leighton asks. I think I actually hear her loading the bullets into that question.

His hands are miracles. I can watch them for hours, transforming wood into something it never dreamed of being.