I might screw up, I might embarrass you, I might yell at you, but I will never, ever stop loving you. You're my first born. The first time I held you. . . I fell in love so hard it cracked my bones.
If it had taught them nothing else, twenty years of living past high school had taught them self-preservation. . . . No one was going to risk putting his ego on the line; they would come prepared with dates, flattering clothes, and a well-rehearsed, carefully edited biography. They would all be kind to each other. High school was enough torture for one lifetime.