“We need to meet and flesh out the details of our... you know... whatever. I don't know what to call it. Our contract.""I was thinking the same thing. But can we call it our epic summer romance? Contract sounds so stuffy." He smiles again.”

“The dripping blood our only drink,The bloody flesh our only food:In spite of which we like to thinkThat we are sound, substantial flesh and blood--Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.”

“Don't say that. Don't even joke about it! The idea of ten weeks with a single, locked-down girlfriend—even the fake kind—gives me all over body hives. Sue me for making a face about that. I don't think you've thought any of this through. It would involve all of our friends, parents—even if we don't use my real name—text messaging, emails—and a lot of time. Time is something I don't have to burn. Plus, it would kill the variety of…of…yeah…girl fun in my summer,” I imply, wondering if she'll call my bluff. The only real summer varieties I score are the extra odd jobs I pick up at the rink. She turns bright red and I have to hide my smile. “Disgusting,” she snorts and reverts back to rubbing her temples.”

“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 mine including your friends.” I throw in a little sarcastic eye flutter. “We're going to be so head-over-heels-in-love. I can't wait to see how romantic you are!” “Oh no. I refuse to be your kind of bumper-sticker-romantic. Don't mistake me for Mr. Darcy.” I gasp. “You don't know Hunger Games or Forks, Washington, but you know Mr. Darcy? Start talking.” “Crap! My grandmother's a fan. She's tortured me since birth with Mr. Darcy. Thanks to her DVD collection, I can quote Jane Austen faster than the Elmo song.” I laugh, surprised again. “Prove it.” “Elizabeth, daaarling!” He's launched into a breathless English accent. “I love, love, love you, and I never want to be parted from you from this day forward. Pardon me, whilst I puke…” “No way!” I beam. “Let the contract state that I want the Mr. Darcy accent once a week!” I can't help but laugh again because he's shaking his head and laughing back.”

“Let the contract state that I want the Mr Darcy accent once a week!”

“I swear you can see in Juliet's eyes that she knows she's going to die because of how she feels for this guy.I think, this scene is where the true tragedy lives. It's not because they both die in the end. The tragedy is all right there…in the very beginning. When he smiles at her. When she instantly forgets.Forgets how dangerous he is.You can't blame her for how it plays out. Romeo's so amazing in this movie—what he says to her—how he looks at her. She's obviously drowning in butterflies.I know for a fact now, butterflies like that can be horrible, beautiful things.”

“If you don't want my services, then it's only fair you cut me loose so I can make another girl or two happy this summer. Or three.” He shifts my papers into a neater pile. “What will they do once I take you off the market?” I ask. “I can only imagine the poor girls wandering around like a lost herd of sheep all summer, wondering where you went.” I risk another glance at the staring girls and shudder. “Do they even blink? Baa. Baa. Baa.”