You're a big sister?' I was shocked. She seemed so good-natured and compassionate.

its more a trance, jonah said. the whole world is pressing in on me, like a weight on my chest, slowly pushing me down ans down. and there's nothing between me and this weight but my flimsy skin. Its not enough. It won't protect me. It doesn't keep anything out. The outside will keep pressing until my ribs are crushed.

If you'd only let me come by myself, none of this would have happened. Having you around makes everything worse.'
She buried her head under her pillow. 'Stop it! you're so cold! You're heartless, you little robot!' The pillow muffled her words, but they still stung.
'I feel things,' I said. 'I'm not a robot!' I stamped my foot and screamed. Then I burst into tears. I touched the wet little drops and held them toward her. 'See, I'm not a robot. This is proof.

Before he sat down, my internal heat-seekers sensed what was coming my way: deep blue eyes that melted girls like Velveeta in a microwave. I tried to resist those microwave eyes, but sometimes there's no defense against them. I had a feeling I'd be seeing him weeping over my coffin later that night.

Even if you know what's coming, you're never prepared for how it feels.

Both within the family and without, our sisters hold up our mirrors: our images of who we are and of who we can dare to be.