What do you think?
Rate this book


372 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 1, 2013






“Stupid, demented hope. Leave me alone. I’d pray if I knew how. For patience, for more time. For self-control – just enough so that I wouldn’t make a complete disaster out of this.
Impossible things...”

I felt drained, lifeless. I was sure that everything was ruined. I'd never feel the same way around Mark. It would never be easy and comfortable between us again.
I was right, as it turned out.
Now you tell me that's not the end of the world.
'It's not the end of the world.'
That's what people will tell you. That's what people will tell you when they want to say, 'Your problems are stupid, your reaction to them is laughable, and I would like you to go away now.'
'Oh, Stephen, for God's sake, it's not the end of the world,' my mother willl say, over and over, in tones of sympathy or distraction. Or sometimes plain impatience.
So of course if she's ever running around looking for her keys and cursing, I'll always tell her, 'It's not the end of the world, Mom.' And if she's really been pissing me off, I'll scoop the keys up from wherever she's left them and stick them in my coat pocket. Then I'll settle back to watch with a sympathetic expression while she tears the house apart looking. Lost keys? Not the end of the world.
p. 1
This is where I lived. Riverside, Nova Scotia (population 1,816) The kind of place where all those movies about small-town America seem to get filmed. You know the kind I'm talking about. The camera rambles down the street and you see people chirping greetings and friendly chit-chat at each other, waving from their houses, old people raking leaves, with a soundtrack of quick, bouncy notes on the strings. For a horror movie, just run the same scened but add a slow, tense cello.
I was falling asleep behind this maze of sheets with a lit cigarette in my hand.
So, was my life a comedy or a horror? I'd prefer a horror movie. At least you know what you're dealing with there.
- p. 16, 17
I didn't understand time. It could freeze like cement in an hourglass. It would be Wednesday and I couldn't imagine it would ever be Friday. It would be February and I knew it would never be June. And then one day I was on my way to the hardware store where my best friend worked and hoping I wouldn't run into him there, with my college acceptance letter in my backpack and less than three months of high school left for the both of us. It had all gone by like one afternoon.
p. 108

“Anyway, so there I’d be, hunched over on a bench in Grade Eight gym class […] Then—whack! A ball would go slamming into the side of my face. And I’d think, Bad spot. I better move. But that ball would find me wherever I went. It was the usual guys, most of the time.
Then one morning I looked up from my book to see Mark firing a basketball right at me.”
“Underneath [Mark] looked soft, like something unshelled. But you could see muscle moving under his skin. A few light-brown hairs curled up from the waistband of his jeans.
I could feel my face going hot, and my ears. I looked away, but it was too late.”