“That wasn’t about you personally. It’s...I don’t hang out much alone. I mean—I don’t often hang out with guys. Alone. They usually make me... uh…” Panic, turn bright red, feel dizzy, want to vomit, stutter, stop breathing, drop things, die… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try to convince you of my feelings. Not after that kiss. Not… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“Tatooine, huh? So awesome you know Star Wars facts,” he adds nodding. “Do you ever watch the animated stuff?” Grin. Grin. Grin. I'm seriously at risk of an old-style faint. Holy-WTHECK? My neck and cheeks are volcano-hot. My entire chest swarms with an uncontrollable butterfly attack. Butterfly riot. Butterfly massacre. Person slaughtered: Me. Method used: Dimple. The guy has a… — Anne Eliot Copy Share
“He shrugged happily. “Let’s make plaid, canvas and compasses my absolute trademarks. Dustin McHugh. All plaid. All canvas. All the time. And I’m never… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“He’s so good at his job, that I’ve fallen for him, the mirage of him being my boyfriend, all of it. Like everyone else.… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“I hop onto the stage and joke-sing: “The Phaaaanntom of the Opera is there, innnnnside your mind.” I attack the curtain with a flourish… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“My heart races and I look away. “Well I care. So, write it down. For nine weekends and eight thousand dollars, what's yours is… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“I pass off a few more résumés and jet away from her and that cinnamon smell, reserving the last paper in my hand so I can finish reading it. “Whoa—hello. What's this?” I mumble, staring at the paper. “Jess Jordan's How to be Normal Checklist, by Kika Jordan? Who's Kika?” I laugh. The way her face has turned whiter than… — Anne Eliot Copy Share
“I’m living in fiction. It’s perfectly okay to be in love with any and all fictional boyfriends, even if they aren’t yours.” — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“look back. She's crossed her arms and is tapping her ugly shoe on the carpet. “You're doing it again,” she says. “What?” “You're turning… — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
“She's trapped me on the front side of the counter. Way. Too. Close. To. Her. LIP-GLOSS.” — Anne Eliot Copy Share Image
