“I'm changing..." I said."Don't do that," Alex said into my hair. Then he scooped me up and over so I was below him, his knees bracketing mine, his arms curving around my head. "Don't change."Truth: When he kissed me again, I couldn't have cared less about being a good person.I felt amazing.”

“when he kissed me i couldn't have cared less about being a good person. i felt amazing.p304 the fine art of truth or dare”

“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.”

“Mystery is good."He drummed his fingertips on my thigh. "Maybe.Maybe not. But I'll let it go. How about this: If I were to open the top drawer of your dresser, what would I find?""Are we back to discussing my underwear again?""Only in graphic detail..." He flicked my sore knee, but not where the bruise was. "I keep loose change and my oldest comic books in mine. Some people have journals or photographs or awards...""Okay,okay." I sighed. "Underwear," I said. "Two ancient swimsuits, and a magazine file.""Of...?""Pictures I've pulled out of magazines.""Yes,thank you. I gathered that. What's in it?"I squirmed a little and contemplated lying. Travel pix, shoes, hints on getting glue off of Ultrasuede... "Mostly pictures of models with short hair," I confessed finally. "It's sort of a goal of mine."Alex reached up and wrapped a strand around his finger. "I like your hair," he said quietly, "but I think you'd look great whatever you did with it.”

“So,I'm curious." Alex dragged me from my pleasant contemplation of cowardice and back in the bathroom. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his feet almost touching mine. "What is it you like so much about this guy? I looked up his stuff. It's good, but nothing out of the ordinary."What a difference a week and a shock to the ideals makes. I felt my defense of Edward sticking a little in my troat. "I like his portraits. He really saw people.It was his great strength, that intensity."Alex tilted his chin toward the picture. "Not to seem crude, but she could be any girl with a nice ass." When I glared at him, he uncrossed his arms quickly and held up his hands in surrender. "Hey,all I mean is that if I were all about really seeing someone, that's not the angle I would choose."He was probably right. No matter how I looked at it, he was probably right. "You're probably right," I told him.He bowed. The small space suddenly got a lot smaller. "Stick with me, Grasshopper. I will never lead you wrong.”

“Whatever you want," he said. "Will you please come here now?"I slipped a piece of protective tissue over my drawing and flipped the book closed. A piece of blue scratch paper slid out, the line I'd copied from Edward;s poetry book. "Hey. Translate for me, Monsieur Bainbridge."I set the sketchbook on my stool and joined him on the chaise. He tugged me onto his lap and read over his head. "'Qu'ieu sui avinen, leu lo sai.' 'That I am handsome, I know.""Verry funny.""Very true." He grinned. "The translation. That's what it says. Old-fashionedly."I thought of Edward's notation on the page, the reminder to read the poem to Diana in bed, and rolled my eyes. You're so vain.I bet you think this song is about you..."Boy and their egos."Alex cupped my face in his hands. "Que tu est belle, tu le sais.""Oh,I am not-""Shh," he shushed me, and leaned in.The first bell came way too soon. I reluctantly loosened my grip on his shirt and ran my hands over my hair. He prompty thrust both hands in and messed it up again. "Stop," I scolded, but without much force. "I have physics," he told me. "We're studying weak interaction."I sandwiched his open hand between mine. "You know absolutely nothing about that.""Don't be so quick to accept the obvious," he mock-scolded me. "Weak interaction can actually change the flavor of quarks."The flavor of quirks, I thought, and vaguely remembered something about being charmed. I'd sat through a term of introductory physics before switching to basic biology. I'd forgotten most of that as soon as I'd been tested on it,too."I gotta go." Alex pushed me to my feet and followed. "Last person to get to class always gets the first question, and I didn't do the reading.""Go," I told him. "I have history. By definition, we get to history late.""Ha-ha. I'll talk to you later." He kissed me again, then walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.”

“I might have stood there for a long time, hand halfway up like a religious statue,if Frankie hadn't gently pulled it down and held on.He stood behind me, vibrating with anger. "That is not an honorable man, Fiorella."Without thinking, I lifted my free hand toward my neck.But I was wearing a turtleneck and my hair was down. There was nothing to see,and all my fingertips found was the rigid peak under my jaw. "Don't do that," Frankie hissed. "Don't you dare. It's not the scar and it's abso-freakin-lutely not you."I dropped my hand. "Yeah,right." I sagged against him a little. For being skinny as he is, Frankie's really solid. "It's never me."I felt his sigh against my shoulder blades. "We are young; heartache to heartache we stand.""Let me guess," I said. "Old Korean proverb.""As if.Pat Benatar. 'Love is a Battlefield.'"I laughed.I had a feeling I might cry, but not there and then. "Thanks.""Don't mention it." Frankie wrapped his free arm around me so my chin rested on his forearm. "Enough,right? That was enough of Alex Bainbridge-for all of us. Promise?""Yeah.Promise?”