“What? You don’t think you could hurt me?” “You need a heart for it to hurt.” His hand didn’t go anywhere. “Ouch, Jasmine. Really. I have a heart.” “It doesn’t count if it’s made out of sticks and stones and painted red.” The only corner of his mouth I could see, turned up just a little. “I made it out of clay, Meatball. Give me some credit.”
