“What can I say? She grew on me. Those Sundays after church, instead of sitting on the couch with our parents, Kitty and I started hanging out in the kitchen by ourselves. She wasn't always good at keeping up a conversation — she lost her train of thought sometimes, and she talked slow in order to find the right words as she went along, and sometimes she forgot that we'd already discussed something, so I had to repeat myself — but a lot of the things she said were smart. Besides, I had learned that she was listening even when it seemed like she wasn't. When I had met her, before I knew anything about her, she had seemed intimidating and aloof. But now that I knew better, I understood not to take it personally. She would trace her fingernails along the top of the kitchen table or look at the ceiling sometimes, but when I stopped talking, she would respond in a way that proved she'd been paying attention all along and, even better, that she was actually interested in what I'd said. Which was more than I could say for most people and definitely more than I could say for any girl I'd ever known.”