“I feel like I've woken up in some sort of crazy carefree person's universe. I don't belong here. This is not my life—or my world.”

“Two minutes into the dance, I'm sitting in a metal chair in thedark, listening to a really annoying Justin Bieber song blaringover the crackling speakers. The song changes. Everyone startsto pair off. I look over at him. He's looking around. Please, Jesusdon't let him ask me to dance.“Hey,” he says. “You wanna...”“No,” I interrupt.I catch him chuckling out of the corner of my eyes. This danceis really stupid. I'm over it. Before I can finish my thought, he'sstanding up. I look him over.“Come on,” he says, tugging at my hand. “Lets get out of here.”

“He’s a gloomy sort. I noticed that right away. When he smiles though, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. When he smiles at me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.”

“It's not that I don't like Logan. I do, a lot—which is precisely whyI have to keep him under the distinct impression that I can'tstand him.”

“Twenty minutes 'til 9, we're getting in the truck. I'm sweaty,stinky and covered in red mud. I'm not sure what Logan smellslike and I don't plan on getting close enough to find out.“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” he asks, as weride along the quiet, foggy, gravel road in the dark.“Alive,” I say, thoughtlessly.“I like that. Aim low,” he retorts.”

“Feeling suddenly slightly liberated and relaxed, I looked over athim. His eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. His hands werein his lap, fingers dancing around in the air as if he was anxious.“I know I love you because even when you just punched me inmy stomach…and by the way, that hurt” he stopped and smiledat me. “I wanted to kiss you.”As soon as the words left his lips, my mouth popped open. Mycheeks were hot. The kid in front of us was grinning. He lockedhis eyes on me and waited for my response. Nosy little kid.”

“Look back at history,” he said, after a minute or two. “Mostgreat and remarkable men weren't tame or politically correct.They were raving loonies. They acted out. Heroes are badasses,not alter-boys.”“You don't think Jesus was a hero?” I asked.“Jesus was the bad-ass,” he said, chuckling a little. “...talkabout somebody knowing how to make some noise.”Nick confused me. Half the time what he said soundedcompletely hypocritical. The other half of the time, what he saidsounded completely insane. He always had an opinion though,no matter how nonsensical it was to me. I admired that abouthim.“You think Jesus would throw a book at someone?” I asked,before I could stop myself.His eyes popped open. I dropped my pen again. He sat upstraight and focused his eyes on me.“I'm not Jesus,” he said simply.No kidding.”