For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.
I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I’m saying I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you this whole bleeding year!
I look at you, and I think about you, and … I don’t know. No one has ever confounded me the way you do.
Yes, St. Claire. I like you. But I can’t say it aloud, because he’s my friend. And friends don’t let other friends make drunken declarations and expect them to act upon them the next day
It’s become impossible to deny he means something to me.
Phones are distracting. The internet is distracting.The way he looked at you? He wasn’t distracted. He was consumed.
The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.
Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.
French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.
I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It’s so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn’t have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.
Soap?””School of America in Paris” he explains. “SOAP”.Nice. My father sent me here to be cleansed.
The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.
St. Clair clears his throat. ‘My fiancée and I are headed out for a celebratory dessert. I’d ask you all to join us, but I don’t want you there.
What…what about when I’m married?”“We’ll buy a cot. Your husband can sleep on that when he visits.
Cricket Bell.” I smiled into my phone. “How did you get so wise?
That guys. Sideburns. You like him?”My back squirms. “You’ve asked me that before.””What I meant was,” he says, flustered. “Your feelings haven’t changed? Since you’ve been
You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.
Thank you for helping my sister,” he says.I lean forward, mimicking his position. “I’m happy to.”Calliope leans out her window. “STOP FLIRTING AND GET BACK TO WORK.
I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s okay to be a blank canvas. Maybe it’s okay that my future is unknown. And maybe,” I say with another smile, “it’s okay to be inspired by the people who do know their future.
I don’t know what I believe. I guess that makes me a Christmas Tree Agnostic.
They blinked in the dusk of the setting sun, a reminder that light was a recurring state.
I doubted myself, and that made me doubt you. But you weren’t the problem. You were never the problem. I should have trusted you, but I didn’t, because I couldn’t trust myself.
Confidence, darling.” He leans across the table and touches a finger to my cheek. “You could learn something from me, you know.
I just can’t fathom why anyone would stand on a ledge when there’s a respectable amount of walking space right next to it.
We’re enveloped in pitch black. “Wait here,” I whisper.”Are you getting your ax?””Handcuffs.””Kinky. But, okay, I’ll try it.
I laugh, and it sounds like I’ve been sucking helium.
I didn’t know it was possible to simultaneously hate and ache for someone.
Some of us wear our hearts. Some of us carry them.
I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. “Is this okay?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”His reply is anguished. Honest. “I love you.
Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?
How could I wish for it for so long, only to come back and find it gone. To be here, in my technical house, and discover that home is now someplace different.
I bought you love poetry! ‘I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.'” I blink at him. “Neruda. I starred the passage. God,” he moans. “Why didn’t you open it?
He’s exasperated. “I’m saying I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you this whole bleeding year!
The way he looked at you? He wasn’t distracted. He was consumed.
He closes his eyes.Our lips brush lightly.”If you ask me to kiss you , I will,” he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames.”Kiss me,” I say.He does.
Andy once clipped a magazine article about how black dogs are always the last to be adopted at shelters and, therefore, more likely to be put down. Which is totally Dog Racism, if you ask me.
Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to not make the same mistake twice.
So why did he do it?”Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. “For the same reason everyone makes mistakes. He fell in love.
So why did he do it?”Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. “For the same reason everyone makes mistake. He fell in love.
Well, bloody noses.” I hug his coat tighter. “Those are definitely hot.
I get out of the car, and I’m blasted by the stench of body odor. Cricket is beside me, and he’s talking, but his words don’t reach my ears.Because it’s my mother.Smelling.On my porch.
I don’t know what I want to do, or who I want to be, or where I want to live. It’s like everyone else has their entire future mapped out except for me.
I told him your loins were clearly burning, and he should man up and make a move.””You did
I don’t believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.
I don’t care about anything. But I care about you.
To: Anna Oliphant From: Étienne St. Clair Subject: So . . . Does that mean I can call you now?
Girl scouts didn’t teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.
Imagine,” she said, after registering, “a whole city of gorgeous Italian guys. They can say anything to me, and it’ll be sexy.” “You’ll be so easy,” Rashmi said. “Would you like-ah to order-ah the spa-ghe-tti? ‘Oh, do me, Marco!
I spent the period reading the first novel assigned for English. And wow. If I hadn’t realized I was in France yet, I do now. Because Like Water for Chocolate has sex in it. LOTS of sex.
We’ll be together. We both got our Point Zéro wishes — each other. He said he wished for me every time. He was wishing for me when I entered the tower.
A moment of reserve. “That was it? The whole story?””Yes. God, you’re right. That was pants.”I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. “Pants?””Rubbish. Crap. S
Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.
Okay, I’ve lied to him. But you saw how jealous he gets. It makes me feel like I have to. And I shouldn’t defend my right to be friends with another guy.
He snuffles. Oh, no.He’s not going to cry, is he? Because even though it’s sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this.Girl scouts didn’t teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.
And then this — the moment he calls my name — is the real moment everything changes.He is no longer St. Clair, everyone’s pal, everyone’s f
You’ve crafted this bored veneer, but you’re always giving yourself away in moments like that. In the moments that really matter.
If you ask me to kiss you, I will,” he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames.“Kiss me,” I say.He does.
I’d like to point out that we’ve had zero problem reaching each other’s mouths.
I don’t know. I don’t really like old movies. The acting is so, ‘Hey buddy, ol’ pal. Let’s go wear our hats and have a big misunderstanding
I don’t know what I believe. I guess that makes me a Christmas tree agnostic.” He smiles. “I like it and you’re a Yom Kippur atheist.
They left me. My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!