“It's a dominance thing," Lissa chimed in. "Like dogs. He was making clear to you that he is the alpha dog." I looked at her. "I mean, you're the alpha dog," she said quickly. "But he doesn't know that yet. He's testing you.""I don't want to be the alpha dog," I grumbled. "I don't want to be a dog, period.”

“I thought this was a cookout. You know, dogs and burgers, Tater Tots, ambrosia salad" Dexter picked up a box of Twinkies, tossing them into the cart. "And Twinkies." "It is,"..."Except that it's a cookout thrown by my mother." "And?" "And my mother doesn't cook." He looked at me waiting. "At all. My mother doesn't cook at all." "She must cook sometimes." "Nope." "Everyone can make scrambled eggs, Remy. It's programmed into you at birth, the default setting. Like being able to swim and knowing not to mix pickles with oatmeal. You just KNOW.”

“Well," I said finally, knowing he was waiting, "you make me laugh."He nodded. "And?""You're pretty good-looking.""Pretty good-looking? I called you beautiful.""You want to be beautiful?" I asked him."Are you saying I'm not?”

“So close, I thought. A shorter fence, a fatter dog, and everything would be different.”

“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.”

“Okay, so if that's not real, whatis? What counts, to you?"He thought for a second, then said, "I don't know. Just because someone's pretty doesn't mean she's decent.Or vice versa. I'm not into appearances. I like flaws, I think they make things interesting."I wasn't sure what answer I'd expected. But this wasn't it. For a second, I just sat there, letting it sink in."You know," I said finally, "saying stuff like that would make girls even crazier for you. Now you're cuteandsomewhat more attainable. If you were appealing before, now you're off the charts.”

“Donneven," I said, in my best Monica imitation, and he laughed. "We're not talking about me.""We could be," he said, as I watched Bert take note of a group of what looked like ninth graders who had justcome into the living room."I'm not gorgeous," I said."Sure you are."I just shook my head, knowing this was him evading the question. "You," I said, "have this whole tall, darkstranger thing going on. Not to mention the tortured artist bit.""Bit?""You know what I mean."He shook his head, clearly discounting this description. "And you," he said, "have that whole blonde, cooland collected, perfect smart girl thing going on.""You're the boy all the girls want to rebel with," I said."You," he replied, "are the unattainable girl in homeroom who never gives a guy the time of day.”