Quotes from Jo Knowles

We only hate what we don't understand.

I'm lying in my room listening to the birds outside. I used to think they sang because they were happy. But then I learned on a nature show they're really showing off. Trying to lure in some other bird so they can mate with it. Or let the other birds know not to get too close to their turf. I wish I never watched that show, because now all I think about is what those pretty sounds mean. And how they're not pretty at all.

What happens when you finally decide to tell the truth and no one listens?

I breath in and out through my mouth to feel the quiet. In. Out. Over and over. Until I fall asleep.

I stretch my fingers across my belly and glide my hand back and forth, waving softly. Sometimes I think I feel a hand reaching out for mine. Or it could be a foot, kicking my hand away. I wish I could tell the difference.

For someone who is invisible, why am I the only one in this family who can't seem to master the art of disappearing?

Maybe that's what being real friends are all about - putting up with the hard lessons - both taught and learned together.

She had this chant, "All will be well, all will be well." I started to believe them, but the whole thing was a scam. It was just some stupid thing to say to make me believe life isn't unfair. And just when I thought life was perfect, it became unbearable again.

I want to be happy. To finally just let the past slip away into the night.

But then, as she looks at their unsuspecting, uninterested faces, she will start to think about what that really means. That just like there is more to her than what they see, there is more inside each one of them. What's your story? she will wonder as she scans the room from face to face. And this time, when she pleads with them to read between the lines, she will try to do the same.

She's the kind of person who looks at you when you're talking and asks you questions as if she really cares.

Saying good-bye to them was like saying good-bye to some people who used to know me when I was a little kid. Like saying good-bye to zombies. Good-bye to a memory. Good-bye to dust. The real good-bye happened a long, long time ago.

Maybe I just need to be able to feel the significance of my own existence.

We were outsiders, waiting to become invisible. Waiting to amount to nothing.

I do what I always do. I go outside to get some air. Seems like I'm always trying to get some air.

I've never felt this ugly or embarrassed — this dirty — in my life. I hate the way I feel. I hate it. I'm a pervert. Why else would my body feel that way when I looked at those pictures?

I try to remind myself of all the mean things she's done to me, but in the end it doesn't matter. With Leah, it never did. Even from the very beginning. No matter how much she hurt me, I always came back. All she had to do was reach for my hand and pull.

I turn my back to Jess while we both get dressed. I'm sweating. Please don't let me have any weird feelings. Please don't let her look at me. Please don't let her be like Leah.

The hard floor makes my head ache more than it did before, but I don't get up. I don't move. I feel all the ugliness and shame I've bottled up pour over me and cover me like a blanket.

Leah used me. She picked me because somehow she knew I would keep her secrets. Somehow she knew I would do whatever she wanted. She knew I wouldn't stop her. Somehow she knew… . She knew part of me would like it.

I get up slowly, quietly, and creep to the bathroom. I turn the water on full and step in without waiting for the hot to kick in. The tub is cold against my skin. I reach for the soap and a washcloth and rub myself all over. Hard. I scrub and scrub until the water warms up and rises over my ankles, my shins, my knees. I scrub until my skin feels raw and the water is so hot it stings against my skin.

I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she's nodding back at me. But she's not. It's me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can't see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.

In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web's car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn't be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.

She knew she should be grateful to have a job at all. It took her two years of subbing before she finally landed this one. She couldn't risk losing it. She turned the handle slowly, pushed the door forward as if it was a giant boulder blocking the opening to a dark cave. She felt, for a moment, like Polyphemus returning to a cave of sheep. It wasn't the first time she felt like a monster.