“The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-​u-​i and not w-​e-​e.”

“It was around the time of the divorce that all traces of decency vanished, and his dream of being the next great Southern writer was replaced by his desire to be the next published writer. So he started writing these novels set in Small Town Georgia about folks with Good American Values who Fall in Love and then contract Life-Threatening Diseases and Die.I'm serious.And it totally depresses me, but the ladies eat it up. They love my father's books and they love his cable-knit sweaters and they love his bleachy smile and orangey tan. And they have turned him into a bestseller and a total dick.Two of his books have been made into movies and three more are in production, which is where his real money comes from. Hollywood. And, somehow, this extra cash and pseudo-prestige have warped his brain into thinking that I should live in France. For a year.Alone.I don't understand why he couldn't send me to Australia or Ireland or anywhere else where English is the native language.The only French word I know is oui, which means "yes," and only recently did I learn it's spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.At least the people in my new school speak English.It was founded for pretentious Americans who don't like the company of their own children. I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It's so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn't have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.Instead,I'm stuck with ninety-nine other students. There are twenty-five people in my entire senior class, as opposed to the six hundred I had back in Atlanta. And I'm studying the same things I studied at Clairemont High except now I'm registered in beginning French.Oh,yeah.Beginning French. No doubt with the freshman.I totally rock.”

“You’ll be reading the breakfast menu without me before you know it.”Hmm, maybe I don’t want to learn French”

“I know sneakers aren't very French-I should be wearing pointy boots or scary heels-but at least they aren't white. It's true what they say about white sneakers. Only American tourists wear them,big ugly things made for mowing grass or painting houses.”

“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.”

“How did you know? That she wasn't the one for him?" Now he's staring at his hands, slowing rubbing them together. "They just didn't have that . . . natural magic. You know? It never seemed easy." My voice grows tiny. "Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work?" Cricket's head shoots up, his eyes bulging as they grasp my meaning. "NO. I mean, yes, but . . . sometimes there are ... extenuating circumstances. That prevent it from being easy. For a while. But then people overcome those ...circumstances . . . and . . .""So you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip. "Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds.If the person is . . . Lola?"This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket."Chapter 27Pg 273”

“I know. And I couldn't wait any longer, I have to tell you - "The panic rises, and I grip the French band tighter. "Cricket, please -"But his words pour forth in a torrent. "I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm not the guy I used to be, I've changed -""Cricket -" I look back up, feeling faint.His blue eyes are bright. Sincere. Desperate. "Go out with me tonight. Tomorrow night, every ni -" The words cut off in his throat as he sees something behind me.Cigarettes and spearmint. I want to die."This is Max. My boyfriend. Max, this is Cricket Bell.”