Mitty had studied the lives of other people for long enough to know that something about her own was off-kilter, cluttered and tense and awake at odd hours. She knew it was hopeless to try and embody whatever intrinsic ease those girls seemed to carry around so thoughtlessly with one another. It was all too foreign to her. And even if she did attempt to pinpoint exactly what it was about her life that felt wrong, she couldn’t. She had been inside it for too long. —
