“I'm not saying I'm a liar,' I told him. He raised his eyebrows. 'That's not how I meant it, anyway.''How'd you mean it, then?'I was digging myself a hole here, and I knew it. But still, I tried to explain myself. 'It's just... I don't always say what I feel.''Why not?''Because the truth sometimes hurts,' I said.'Yeah,' he said. 'So do lies, though.”

“So you're always honest," I said."Aren't you?""No," I told him. "I'm not.""Well, that's good to know, I guess.""I'm not saying I'm a liar," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "That's not how I meant it, anyways.""How'd you mean it, then?""I just...I don't always say what I feel.""Why not?""Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said."Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though.”

“Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said. Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though.”

“You know," I told him,"if you don't know how to eat a cupcake, that's nothing to be ashamed of."Now he did smile. "I know how to eat a cupcake.""Sure you do.""I do," he said. "I just don't want one of those.""Yeah? Prove it.”

“So say I’m your mom.''What?' I said.'I’m your mom,' he repeated. 'Now tell me you want to quit modeling.'I could feel myself blushing. 'I can’t do that,' I said.'Why not?' he asked. 'Is it so hard to believe? You think I’m not a good role-player?''No,' I said. 'It’s just–''Because I am. Everyone wanted me to be their mother in group.'I just looked at him. 'I just… It’s weird.''No, it’s hard. But not impossible. Just try it.'A week earlier, I hadn’t even known what color his eyes were. Now, we were family. At least temporarily.”

“Okay," I said, "what's your biggest fear?"As always, he took a second to think about the answer."Clowns," he said."Clowns.""Yup."I just looked at him. "What?" he said, glancing over at me."That is not a real answer," I told him."Says who?""Says me. I meant a real fear, like of failure, of death, of regret. Like that. Something that keeps you awake nights, questioning your very existence."He thought for a second. "Clowns.”

“That sucks, though," Wes said finally, his voice low. "You're just setting yourself up to fail, because you'llnever get everything perfect.""Says who?"He just looked at me. "The world," he said, gesturing all around us, as if this party, this deck encompassed itall. "The universe. There's just no way. And why would you want everything to be perfect, anyway?""I don't want everything to be perfect," I said. Just me, I thought. Somehow. "I just want—”