More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
People live through such pain only once; pain comes again, but it finds a tougher surface.
Jonathan was . . . above average. And he was charismatic, which helped his stage presence.
“I heard her throat was slit in three places.”
Osborne smelled like diesel, tasted like despair, and was surrounded by an ocean of corn. Stupid corn. So much corn.
She was the kind of person who should be totally stuck up, but . . . she wasn’t. People liked her. Which always means someone didn’t like her. Resented her.”
Or maybe it was because of Haley, a horrific situation already beyond anyone’s help.
“No, I’m really sorry. It was a shitty thing to say.” “And I’m sorry that your parents are the fucking worst.”
But then she felt bad again, because a girl was dead, and it really was sad.
It had been so long since Makani had felt any amount of genuine, unadulterated happiness that she’d forgotten that sometimes it could hurt as much as sadness. His declaration pierced through the muscle of her heart like a skillfully thrown knife. It was the kind of pain that made her feel alive.
Just as it was rude and invasive to ask him about his genitalia or sexual preference, it was equally rude and invasive to ask her about her ethnicity. It was the sort of information that should only be volunteered. Never asked for.
His eyelids were so swollen that he could hardly keep them open. Only a psychopath could fake that kind of reaction.
Then again, only a psychopath could commit that kind of murder.
Chronic traumatic encephalopathy was a disease caused by repetitive blows to the head. Early symptoms included memory loss, disorientation, and erratic behavior. Later symptoms included dementia, impeded speech, and suicide.
Makani was grateful that she didn’t believe in ghosts; she only believed in the ghostlike quality of painful memories. And she was sure this house had plenty.
Makani wondered why discussing a tragedy—consuming every single story about it—was often comforting. Was it because
tragedies manifested a sense of community? Here we are, all going through this terrible thing together. Or were tragedies addictive, and the small pleasures that came from them the signal of a deeper problem?
Nah we’re watching cowboy bebop. It’s cool.
Everywhere. They were everywhere. Those who had left them and those who had been left behind.
Social boundaries were being crossed everywhere. Students still ate with their own kind, but each group sat a little closer to the other groups, and they weaved in and out of one another’s conversations. They were all talking about the same thing, anyway. It was sad that people only got along when everybody was unhappy.
Yes, we had sex. Um, ten minutes? Then we talked for a while. Maybe fifteen minutes?
I don’t know. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? It was humiliating. And now it would go on file, typed up on some kind of awful official document or digital record or both.
I barely know him, she kept telling Bev. No, I don’t know why he’d target me.
Are you okay? Where are you?! We are SO SORRY for suspecting Ollie!!!
They were caught up in their own emergencies, and none of them had realized that they were sitting with the latest victims of the Osborne Slayer.
“Just tell me something good.” She put her head in her hands. “I need to hear something positive.”
I should tell him. I have to tell him. I can’t hide anymore.
“But she’s a raging narcissist who married an asshole.”
It must be nice to have someone who gives enough of a shit about you to warn you. Must be nice to have been given the opportunity to prepare.
“You’re not afraid I’m a vicious sociopath? Someone who gets off on other people’s pain?” Makani’s jokes were only half jokes.
“In the movies, it’s always the kids who have sex and do drugs that are killed, right?” Zachary forced another grin. “I guess that means we’re both gonna die.”
“Everybody has at least one moment they deeply regret, but that one moment . . . it doesn’t define all of you.” “But it does. It ruined my life.
Antisocial personality disorder, her mom had diagnosed.
He actually wanted to be caught. “So, it’s about fame?” she asked. “You wanted a high body count so that you could be another Gacy? Another Dahmer?” “Those assholes killed for sexual pleasure.” “And you’re killing for the fun of it?” “This isn’t fun,” David said as he lifted the knife above his head. “This is just something I have to do.”
Running away from home didn’t change the fact that a person still had to live with themselves.
As the paramedics reached to close the doors, Makani burst back out of the ambulance. She tore through the fairgrounds and down the path of demolished cornstalks, officers and medics racing behind her.
Makani laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and put on a brave smile of her own. She kissed his forehead.
