“Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.”

“We are kissing like crazy. Like our lives depend on it. His tongue slips inside my mouth, gentle but demanding, and it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced, and I suddenly understand why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer. My veins throb and my heart explodes. I have never wanted anyone like this before. Ever.He pushes me backward and we’re lying down, making out in front of the children with their red balloons and the old men with their chess sets and thetourists with their laminated maps and I don’t care, I don’t care about any of that.All I want is Étienne.The weight of his body on top of mine is extraordinary. I feel him—all of him—pressed against me, and I inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, andthat extra scent that’s just . . . him. The most delicious smell I could ever imagine.I want to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His lips taste like honey. His face has the slightest bit of stubble and it rubs my skin but I don’t care, Idon’t care at all. He feels wonderful. His hands are everywhere, and it doesn’t matter that his mouth is already on top of mine, I want him closer closercloser.”

“I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.”

“Oh, it's okay," I say quickly, letting go of the figurine. "You can touch anything of mine you want." He freezes. A funny look runs across his face before I realize what I've said, I didn't mean it like that. Not that that would be so bad.”

“He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, its been crossed off. There's only a black box. "Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn't know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but...I couldn't. That one small move felt impossible." Now I'm staring at my hands, too. "I would have let you take it." "I know." His voice croaks.”

“I finally realized how absurd it was that I'd worried so much about what my classmates thought about me. It's not like I wanted to look like them.”

“I slide my hand between our mouths, just in time. His lipsare soft against my palm. I slowly, slowly remove it. “No, Idon’t love Max anymore. But I don’t want to give you thisbroken, empty me. I want you to have me when I’m full,when I can give something back to you. I don’t have much togive right now.”Cricket’s limbs are still, but his chest is pounding hardagainst my own. “But you’ll want me someday? That feelingyou once had for me … that hasn’t left either?”Our hearts beat the same wild rhythm. They’re playing thesame song.“It never left,” I say.”