“In a long line of good exits, that was one of his best.”

“I was wondering where the real party was."I jumped, sending my pencil in a sharp line across the page. Alex was standing two feet away, one booted foot on my step, hands thrust into the pockets of what looked too much like Emo pants: black and tight."Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to surprise you.""You didn't surprise me," I gasped, left hand plastered to my chest. "You scared the crap out of me. Who raised you? Wolves?"He actually grinned. "You've met my parents. What do you think?"I wasn't going to touch that one. I just shrugged. "Why aren't you inside?" he asked after a few seconds."It was too hot," I lied, closing my sketchbook as casually as I could. "Oppressive.Why aren't you?""It was too...God, I don't know. Oppressive's a good word. Some fresh air seemed like a good idea."I looked past him, relieved not to see anyone else there. "All by yourself? That's...bold."His brows wen up. For a second, I thought he was going to turn around and leave. Instead,he took his hands out of his pockets and pointed at my step. "Big words for a small person. Can I sit down?"I swallowed. "Sure."He did, ending up with his elbows resting on his thighs and his right knee not quite touching mine.The silence went on just long enough to make in uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to help him with his small talk. I'm not very good at it in the best of circumstances. Sitting almost thigh to thigh with a guy who turned me into a mental pretzel was nowhere near a good circumstance.”

“Dad was still holding the knife. He gave Alex a very long look. Then he set down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron, and extended one. "Ronnie Marino."Alex almost leaped forward to take it. "Alex Bainbridge." He have a tiny wince,and I figured Dad had squeezed.”

“I'm sorry I looked. Or saw, I guess. I didn't go digging through your book. The pages fell out.""Yeah. I kinda figured that might have been what happened." He scuffed one heel against the cement. "The book fell out of my bag again...and,well..."And,well, there he was,forgiven."Zippers," I said. "One of mankind's better inventions. Your bag has one; I've seen it.""You see much, Grasshopper."I blinked at him."C'mon. Kung Fu?" He let go of his knees and sliced both hands through the air in a choppy spiral. "Shaolin monk fighting against injustice while searching for his long-lost brother in the Old West?"I shook my head. "Nope.Sorry."""Sad. I bet you wouldn't recognize 'Live long and prosper,' either.""Nope.""How did I know? My dad got me into seventies TV.It's awfully brilliant. Or brilliantly awful, maybe." He had relaxed and was looking monumentally pleased with seventies television or himself or something.You're awfully beautiful, Alex Bainbridge.I managed to keep that one to myself,but... "You're really good." That one got away from me. "Your drawing, I mean.”

“Well, good night," he said cheerfully. "Thanks for dinner.""Oh. Right." I took a half step back toward the house. "You're welcome.""Ella.""Yeah?""You've gotta be kidding."PECo hadn't some yet, so it was pretty dark where we were standing. I don't know how his hand found mine so fast, but one second I was thinking about how much I didn't want to say good night, and the next I was up against his chest, standing on my toes with my feet between his."Is this okay?" he asked, his breath chocolaty and warm against my forehead."Yeah," I answered, my own breath coming in quick little jumps. "Yeah.""Good.I have something I have to tell you."I waited."I hate that Klimt painting," he said. "I really hate it."Then he was folding me into his coat and his face was right above mine, and there was only one kiss that mattered.”

“My sister taught me the best trick. When the salesclerk isn't looking, you make Sharpie marks on the front of all the others so no one else will buy them. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to have someone else show up at the dance wearing the same dress! This way, I know I'll be the only one.""God,I wouldn't have the guts.What if you got caught!"The Sharpie-wielding Phillite shrugged. "I would put them all on my dad's card. But then I wouldn't be able to buy the Manolos..."She and her impressed friends headed down the hall.Frankie banged his locker closed with unnecessary force. "Mind-boggling," he muttered. "All that money, and they can't buy a clue.”

“Oh,for God's sake." Frankie rolled his eyes under his green porkpie hat. The color perfectly matched the VINCE stitched onto the pocket of his brown bowling shirt. Frankie is all about vintage chic. "Give me the book.I'll throw it at him."Frankie's daring. He's also conversant in postmodern art and tells me he loves me on a regular basis. He does lie like a rug,but only to people he doesn't care about, like the gym teacher. "Badminton?" he gasped once, early in our friendship, when I assumed I'd found a gym partner (him) who would actually talk to me. "And risk this nose?"It's a good nose. In a really, really good face.”