“Elementary, my dear Watson.""That's a misquotation, by the way," I countered without thinking. Which might've made more of an impact if I'd stopped grinning like a cretin."See? Ten minutes and you already know I read Sherlock Holmes. Just imagine what you could discover if we went out on a real date.”

“This is the stuff dreams are made of, right?"I could've pointed out the misquotation; everybody goes for Humphrey Bogarst's famous like from The Maltese Falcon, when the words actually are "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" and they belong to Master Shakespeare, but you know what? With all due to respect to the women's movement, the fact is that, on rare occasions, silence really is a girl's best garment.So I just smiled instead.”

“How could you be watching me the whole year?" I asked, sensing my eyes bulging, but unable to control it. "I think I would've noticed."His smile widened. "What, you mean, since you where always checking me out?”

“I love how you look at me."[...]"And how's that?" I asked, blushing on cue.His lower lip curled in that mischievous way it did."Like you're having a hard time deciding between my lips and this blueberry pie. And I know nothing comes between you and this pie."I giggled. "Very observant. Wonder which one will win?”

“Before I knew it, my daily schedule had started to look a lot like this:Monday: Woke up, thought of Ryder; went to school, stared at Ryder; had lunch with J, gaped at Ryder; went to PE, brooded over Ryder's absence; went home, thought of Ryder; took a drive "accidentally" passing by Dave's Garage, spied on Ryder; came home, thought of Ryder; had dinner, no appetite due to lack-of Ryder; went to bed, tossed and turned thinking about Ryder.Tuesday: See above, with minor adjustments.Wednesday: Ryder wasn't in school, my world collapsedThursday: Same as Monday and TuesdayFriday: See above.Saturday: Nightmarishly long, boring. Drove by Dave's Garage twice, hoping to see Ryder.Sunday: See above, minus the drive-by. But, yay, tomorrow I'll see Ryder in school! God bless Mondays.”

“Live like [me] for seventeen years and you either start seeing boys as chocolate-covered French éclairs on legs, the kind packing a thousand calories apiece, strictly hands-off, or you stop seeing them at all.”

“Close your eyes," he said, low and soft. "Look inside yourself and don't think for a second, just ... tell me, how did you feel when I kissed you?"[...]"Unbroken.”