“We are in a boy recession," Eugene repeats. "There's been a sudden, drastic decrease in the male population at this school. And I'm gonna take advantage of it.”

“I've been asking around to find out what girls are into," Eugene tells me, really pleased with himself. "So I'm gonna get a spray tan and make red-velvet cupcakes.”

“So that's how we end up helping Aviva pick out a male escort. Even Darcy is impressed with Eugene's organization; each profile in the boy binder has two pictures, a head shot and a full-body shot, and lists essential information: age, school, height, weight, extracurriculars, hobbies, and dance ability (which ranges from "occasional Dance Dance Revolution participation" to "so good he could back up the Biebs").”

“I could kiss that girl. And ya know what? I will kiss that girl. As soon as I get back to school, I'm gonna grab her, and I'm gonna kiss her.”

“Eugene's got a fake ID, and he actually gets away with using it because he looks like he's thirty-six, thanks to his devotion to tasseled shoes and his ridiculous carpet of chest hair.”

“I've never had any summer lovin'. And I've never had any school year lovin', either. I've never had a boyfriend. I've never hooked up with a guy. And this morning, on my Internet browser, an article popped up about women marrying themselves. Even my wireless connection knows I'm alone.”

“You all right?" he asked.I felt dizzy. "Yeah. Lots of blood, though...""The head always bleeds a lot," Luke told me. "Remember when I fell from the chandelier?"I smiled through my nausea. "Yeah.""And from that third-story window?""Yeah.""And from the flagpole of our Montessori school?""I remember." I managed a small laugh. "But I'm surprised you do.”