It’s a good story. And you know what people like way more than the truth? A good story.
The word was ours now, and as long as we held on to it, we could control the hurt it inflicted.
You know, my father says those are the four most frightening words a woman can say. He claims that nothing good ever begins with “We need to talk.” You’re worrying me a little here, Duffy.
Beauty really was skin-deep. Wesley Rush may have had the body of a Greek god, but his soul was as black and empty as the inside of my closet. What a bastard!
I hated Valentine’s Day even before I was aware of my Duff status. Honestly, I didn’t even understand why it was a holiday. Really, it was just an excuse for girls to whine about being lonely and for guys to worm their way into getting laid. I found it materialistic, indulgent, and, with all of the chocolate, completely unhealthy.
Her choice ruins the lives of the people she cares most about. Because she picked propriety over passion. Head over heart.
I mean, just because my voice actually worked didn’t necessarily mean I could use it well in his presence.
I cleared my throat and tried to look like I wasn’t inwardly slapping myself.
There’s more to this amazing body than awe-inspiring abs. I have a pair of ears, too, and they happen to work superbly.
The truth was, I hated pretty much anything requiring school spirit, because, obviously, I had none.
He had to find time in his schedule to talk to me. Wow, that made me feel important.
Even though this story could end a thousand different ways, and even though chances were, it might not have a happy ending, it didn’t matter. Because I already knew how I was gonna tell this story.
She wrote a self-esteem book.
I’d skipped the crush kiddie pool and jumped right into the deep, shark infested ocean of emotions.
I’m scared.” It was something I’d never said out loud. “I’m scared he’ll let me down... or that he won’t want me. And I figure maybe it’s easier if I just don’t give him the chance.
Very classy. I couldn’t help wondering, again, why on earth he was interested in me.
The truth was, I hated pretty much anything requiring school spirit, because, obviously, I had none. I hated Hamilton High. I hated the horribly bright school colours, the incredibly generic mascot, and at least ninety percent of the student body. That’s why I couldn’t wait to leave for college.
Amy and I needed each other. Neither of us really had other close friends. We were the type who were friendly with everyone... I think most people felt sort of left out when they spent time with Amy and me. There was too much history, too many inside jokes, and, yeah, maybe our closeness was a little bit weird to some.
Sometimes it’s okay to believe things that aren’t true. Sometimes it’s necessary.
Reminding me that I have no control over when or where or how I will die.