“I plan on dying without anyone ever having gotten video of me emulating fowl.”

“Alex was late. I was grateful. I was also incredibly nervous and I'd gotten mascara in my eye. I blinked a lot as I did a last check.”

“There was no doorman outside Harrison Kinuye's house, just a Phillite senior leaning into a huge stone urn. He extricated himself as I reached the door. "Hey," he greeted me, sending out plumes of condensed breath and beer fumes. "Thought I was gonna heave.""Okay," I said. Apparently,that satisfied them, because he opened the front door for me with a clumsy flourish.I was in.That simple. I'd spent the entire walk over worried that I wasn't going to get past the door,I'd watched Harrison's YouTube video (cleverly posted under the complicted name "Harrison Kinuye's Party") three times to be sure of the password. The whole video consisted of Harrison holding a piece of paper with the address, date, and time of the party. Of course,it read backward, but that wasn't much of a challenge, and I suspected it wasn't deliberate on his part. At the eighteen-second mark, he opened his mouth and let out a massive, echoing belch.Fade to black. I'd been afraid that was the password and that I would have to burn for admittance.”

“Love is one of two things worth dying for. I have yet to decide on the second.”

“Nous avons ete amies," I added. "There,that's two in French, and using past perfect, no less."I couldn't see his expression clearly. It flet like a long time before he said anything. "Ella..." He paused, then, "What happened? Between you and Anna?""Other than the fact that I'm a fashion-impaired poor kid who draws doorknobs? Haven't a clue."Alex leaned forward. Now I could see his face. He looked annoyed. "Why do you do that? Diminish yourself?""I don't-""Bullshit."I could feel my cheeks flaming, feel my shoulders curving inward. "I don't-""Right.Don't.Just don't, with me, anyway. I like you better feisty."I couldn't help it; that made me smile. "Did you really just say 'feisty'?""I did.It's a good word.""It's am old word, favored by granddads and pirates.""Yar," Alex sighed."Face it.You're just an old-fashioned guy.""Whatever.Three...?""Three," I said, and changed my mind midthought. "I haven't been able to decide if Willing is the second best thing that ever happened to me, or the second worst.""What are the firsts?""Nope.Uh-uh.It is not for you to ask, Alexander Bainbridge, but to reveal."He drained his glass and rolled it back and forth between his hands. "I had all these funny admissions planned, but you've screwed up my plans. Hey. Don't go all wounded-wide-eyed on me. It's cute, that Bambi thing you have going, but beside the point.Now I have to rethink.""You don't-""Quiet.One: My name isn't Alexander." He sat up straight and gave his chest a resounding thump. "Menya zavut Alexei Pavlovich Dillwyn Bainbridge. Not Alexander. I don't think anyone outside my family knows that.”

“3."Ella,um,it's Alex. I hope this is the right number.I had to get it from a really old phone book. I would have gotten your cell number from Sadie Winslow, but...well, every time I got near her today, Frankie Hobbes showed his teeth. He's a little scary for such a skinny guy...Anyway. You weren't in English today. You weren't anywhere that I could see today.Um...call me. I was thinking I could come over...”

“Look.I'm...uh...When you told me you'd looked at my stuff.I didn't...I shouldn't have..."What is it about those two words-I'm sorry-that makes otherwise articulate guys into babbling idiots? I mean, I love you, I get. That's a tough one, putting yourself so completely, nakedly out there. I haven't ever said that to a guy. A guy other than Frankie or my dad, anyway. But I'm sorry? I say it twenty times a day.To Nonna, when I just can't face a three-course breakfast at seven in the morning, to the half-dozen people I bump into on my frantic rush up those eight blocks to school. To Sadie, for having to copy her algebra homework for,like,the thousandth time, because I didn't get to mine.I'm still waiting for Leo to apologize for totalling my bike three years ago. I forgave him eventually. Riding a bike in the middle of the city is a little like playing RUssian roulette with a bus. Still, it would have been nice t have gotten an I'm sorry instead of a litany of excuses. I figure I'll be waiting forever.”