Nancy Garden

“Don’t let ignorance win,” said Ms. Stevenson. “Let love.”

“The one thing that having a temper has taught me, Liza,” she said, “is that most of the time it’s better to do one’s exploding in private.

I like writing better than talking.

“If I were gay,” Tessa said, looking out Jamie’s window, “I don’t think I’d hide it. Or I’d hide it completely, never give anyone a clue.”

I hate it when people are cruel, and that’s what hate speech is, and that’s why I was so mad.

I want to be your friend, Jamie. I want to go on being your friend, always, no matter what.

Then a wonderful slow smile spread across her face and into her eyes, and I knew she was back again

told her about how I’d acted out King Arthur stories up until I was fourteen, and how I still sometimes thought about them

It felt a little as if we’d found a script that had been written just for us

I don’t want to pretend any more. You make me—want to be real.”