I moan with pleasure. “Did you just have a foodgasm?” he asks, wiping ricotta from his lips. “Where have you been all my life?” I ask the beautiful panini.
Madame Guillotine gets mad at me. Not because I told them to shove it, but because I didn’t say it in French. What is wrong with this school?
Sometimes a mistake isn’t a what. It’s a who.
And if I’m the stars, Cricket Bell is entire galaxies.
There are some people in life that you can’t get over.
People should say what they mean and not make other people stumble around.
Why do I care so much about him, and why do I wish I didn’t? How can one person make me so confused all of the time?
This is home. The two of us.
I don’t believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.
Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to not make the same mistake twice.
I don’t understand why things always go from perfect to weird with us. It’s like we’re incapable of normal human interaction.
It’s not right. It hasn’t been right, not since I met you.
There’s something about blue eyes. The kind of blue that startles you every time they’re lifted in your direction. The kind of blue that makes you ache for them to look at you again. Not the blue green or blue gray, the blue that’s just blue. Cricket has those eyes.
And I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.
I wasn’t being a git. I wasn’t even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms -.
Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.
There are few things worse than having feelings for someone you shouldn’t, and I don’t like where my thoughts were headed.
Har. Bloody. Har.
Pinkie means excited or happy, thumb means thinking or worried. I’m surprised I know the meaning of these gestures. How closely have I been paying attention to him?
No more moving. I’m here. I’m wherever you are.