But there is something else that stings me. Burns. You were my friend first. You were supposed to be my friend too. I study Wes’s face. His purple heart hardened with cruelty into a midnight shade. He’s right where he wants to be, right next to Reed. And he does not see me.
Cynthia Singerman’s When We Fell in Love: On Loving Books and Writing
I can still picture myself in sixth grade, sitting in the library, reading Alice Hoffman’s "At Risk". I can still see the way the light filtered in through the glass, bouncing off the walls covered with books.