“I felt a wave of longing roll out of me, but not the way it usually did, diffuse and sad. This was hopeful, as though it had been coaxed out by a whispered promise.”

“Say 'Not Yet.' It's best to leave your options open.”

“I felt a wave of longing roll out of me, but not the way it usually did, diffuse and sad. This was hopeful, as though it had been coaxed out by a whispered promise.”

“YES. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL. LIKE A SUAVE THING. In fact, from here on, please forward my mail to 1 Suave Hill, Suave Boulevard, Suavieland, Planet of She's-So-Smooth-I-Can't-Believe-She's-Not-Butter.”

“Are we running away from home?” I asked, giving voice to the question that had been on my mind for two days, ever since the lady at the Wok On restaurant asked where we were from and my mother”

“You talk more when you're nervous," he said, still standing close to her."No i don't. That's absurd. I'm just trying to explain to you-""Do i make you nervous?""No. I'm not nervous.""You're trembling.""I'm cold. I'm wearing practically zero clothes."His glance went to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I noticed.”

“That kiss you gave me was the hottest kiss i've ever had. I pulled away because i was afraid i wouldn't be able to stop myself from ripping off your clothes. And that didn't seem like the right way to end a first date. I didn't want you to think that was all i was interested in."She stared at him. There was silence again, but this time she didn't worry about how long it went on."Why didn't you tell me?" She said finally."I tried to, but every time i saw you afterward you disappeared. I got the feeling you were avoiding me.""i didn't want things to be awkward.""Yeah, there was nothing awkward about you hiding behind a plant when i came into the dining hall at lunch on wednesday.""I wasn't hiding. I was, um, breathing. You know, oxygen. From the plant. Very oxygenated, that air is.""Of course. I should have thought of that.""It's a healthy thing. Not many people know about it.”

“Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you´d utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.“Good book?” he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, “A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad,” out loud.But life did not come with a trapdoor. ”