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“Boys like us always know one another about a thousand years before anyone else knows us, don’t we?”
Some people wore their broken hearts with careful grace. I didn’t. The pieces of mine scraped against everything, and everyone could hear the grinding noise, even if they didn’t know what it was.
“Fairy,” he said. “It’s a word I forgot to tell you about. It’s a word they use for boys like us. They mean it to be an insult, but I take it to mean there’s something magic about us and they know it.”
I carried it away from East Egg and West Egg, as carefully as if she’d wrapped the moon in flannel.
