Grady Hendrix

Gretchen smiled up at Abby, humming a little tune.

“I think we’re alone now,” she sang softly, eyes locked on Abby’s. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone aroun-ound. I think we’re alone now, the beating of our hearts is the only sou-ound . . .”

Abby Rivers and Gretchen Lang were best friends, on and off, for seventy-five years, and there aren’t many people who can say that. They weren’t perfect. They didn’t always get along. They screwed up. They acted like assholes. They fought, they fell out, they patched things up, they drove each other crazy, and they didn’t make it to Halley’s Comet.

But they tried.

“Once you’ve finish reading it, you’ve finished needing it”

She was beginning to feel like every test was a life-or-death challenge and if she failed even one of them

Life could be an endless series of joyless chores, or she could get totally pumped and make it fun. There were bad things, and there were good things, but she got to choose

“If I stop being happy, will you kill me?” Gretchen asked.

“Totally,” Abby said.

hair is short because long hair can get grabbed. I wear running shoes in case I have to move. I don’t wear loose clothing.

We’re the women who kept fighting back no matter how much it hurt, who jumped out that third-story window, who dragged ourselves up onto that roof when our bodies were screaming for us to roll over and die. Once we start something, it’s hard for us to stop.

Isn’t the point of therapy that one day you don’t need it anymore?”

Men don’t have to pay attention the way we do. Men die because they make mistakes. Women? We die because we’re female. Look at Adrienne.