“Is there anything which does not do as you say?" the girl asked archly. He blushed."You know my cry. I do not know yours," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze.”

“You wanna know what else I know?” he asked.“What do you know, honey?” “My girl is gonna marry me.”

“Do you know what my father used to say?" I ask her. "He used to say that songs had a heart. A crescendo that can make all your blood rush from your head to your toes.”

“...My dad, may he rest in peace, taught me many wonderful things. And one of the things he taught me was never ask a guy what you do for a living. He said "If you think about it, when you ask a guy, what do you do you do for a living," you’re saying "how may I gauge the rest of your utterances." are you smarter than I am? Are you richer than I am, poorer than I am?" So you ask a guy what do you do for a living, it’s the same thing as asking a guy, let me know what your politics are before I listen to you so I know whether or not you’re part of my herd, in which case I can nod knowingly, or part of the other herd, in which case I can wish you dead.”

“Don’t cry,nyonda,” he murmured.Phillipa took a deep breath. “What does that mean, anyway? Nyonda?”His green gaze held hers. “It’s Swahili. It means ‘beloved.’” A small smile touched his mouth, and he brushed her cheek again. “You do know I love you, Phillipa. To an alarming degree.”

“Carter: "Dude, I don't know why it works, it just does. [...] Just pretend you're not into 'em and then ask a question. What's the worst that could happen?"EJ makes eye contact with the smallest one, off to the side. [...]She looks up at EJ and gives him the nicest smile. He pulls the trigger and yells, "You think you're hot stuff, don't you?"What the...? Where are you going with this?"Excuse me?" she replies, kind of sweetly.EJ asks, "You think you're cool, don't you? Where did you get that shirt, the Salvation Army? What the hell is with your hair?My eyes are as big as basketballs as he fires one mean-ass question after another at her."You don't have a boyfriend, do you?" he continues.It's like he's armed with self-esteem killer."Did your parents have any kids that lived?" EJ asks.The girls starts to buckle, and tears are on the way."Are these your friends, or are they like, counselors here to observe you?" EJ shouts. [...]He asks, "Does your grandma know you borrowed her shoes?" as I drag him away. The girl is crying pretty hard, and her friends are trying to console her. [...]"Man, that didn't do very well. What do you think I did wrong?" EJ asks."Are you serious?" I ask"I was just doing what you told me to," he replies."I-I-I told you to go up to that girl and start abusing her?" I ask."You said to ask her questions and pretend I didn't like her!" he yells back."Pretend YOU'RE NOT INTO HER!" I clarify. "Not that you hate her and wish she would die! Good God, that girl thought she was gonna get a boyfriend when you walked up, not years of therapy.""Do you think I still have a shot?" he asks"NO, I don't!" I bark”