Пусть этот роман и не стал для меня идеальным, но очень понравился, а некоторые моменты так просто привели в восторг. Так что, спешу ими поделиться =)
* * *
“So, no deep, dark secrets you want to share with me then?” he asks.
“No. Apart from accidentally stealing a Pooh Bear pencil sharpener when I was five, I’m completely average in every way. Haven’t you noticed?”
“No, I haven’t.” His eyes are doing that annoying intense thing again. “I did notice one remarkable thing about you.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Really? And what might that be?”
He takes my hand, then pushes our palms together while he aligns our fingers.
The same heat we shared in the auditions flares, and for a moment I think he’s going to say something about our amazing connection.
Instead he says, “You have freakishly large man hands.”
Excuse me?! “I do not have man hands!”
“Yeah, you do. I noticed them when we did the mirror exercise. Look at them.”
* * *
“You are such a butthead.”
“And you’re being evasive. Answer the question.”
“Why do you care if I’m”—I want to shock him by saying the “F” word, but I just can’t push it past my lips—”dating him?”
“I don’t. Just curious. You two looked pretty friendly earlier. In fact, it looked like he was going to feel you up in front of the whole class.”
“God, you’re disgusting.”
“Just answer the question.”
“No!”
“‘No,’ you’re not dating him, or ‘no,’ you won’t answer the question.”
“Both.”
“Well, that’s impossible. If it’s ‘no’ to the first you’re automatically saying ‘yes’ to the second.”
“Stop. Talking.” My face is white-hot.
“So is your answer to my original question ‘no’ or not?”
“No, my answer isn’t ‘no.’”
“No?”
“No!” Dammit, now I’m confused as to what exactly I’m saying “no” to.
* * *
Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday.
Yep. Nineteen years of trying to be everything to everyone and ending up as no one to myself.
How the hell did this happen?
* * *
“Goddammit.” He looks at his wrist and says, “Wow, look at the time. We have to go. The show’s starting soon.”
Right. Benzo Ra.
He walks off, and I follow, saying, “Uh … Holt? You know you’re not actually wearing a watch, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Just checking.”
* * *
“For fuck’s sake, Taylor,” he says as he throws up his hands. “An opinion isn’t right or wrong. It’s your interpretation of a subject or situation. You can’t be fucking wrong!”
“So, if I look at the sky and have the opinion that the clouds are pink, I’m right?”
“Yes! Because it’s an opinion, not a fact, and maybe to you, the clouds are pink because you’re nuts. An opinion doesn’t need to be true for anyone else in the world but you. Stop trying to fucking please everyone, and just say what you think.”
* * *
Sometimes people put up walls, not only to keep people out, but also to see who cares enough to tear them down.
* * *
“So, what? We’re going to tell them we’re boyfriend and girlfriend?”
He hesitates for just a second. “Uh … yes.”
I’m still not convinced. “So, you’re my boyfriend, Ethan, bringing home his girlfriend, Cassie, to meet his parents?”
“Yes.” Less hesitation that time, but it’s still there.
“Just a normal boyfriend and girlfriend, spending time with your folks and doing normal boyfriend and girlfriend things. All boyfriendy and girlfriendy—”
“Okay, stop saying ‘boyfriend and girlfriend.’ It’s annoying.”
“I’ll stop if you say it.”
“Why?”
“So I know you can.”
“I said it at Jack’s.”
“That was ages ago. Say it again.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re my girlfriend, okay? My very hot, very irritating girlfriend.”
“Aw, boyfriend, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, your girlfriend.”
He shakes his head and tries not to laugh. “Will you stop now?”
“Of course.” I wait a second before asking, “Can I call you ‘sweetie’?”
“No.”
“Cupcake?”
“No.”
“Angel-cheeks?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Okay, fine. Just so we’re both on the same page.”
* * *
“Bite me,” Holt mutters while absently flicking through a Rolling Stone magazine.
Elissa sighs. “You said you’d be nice.”
He leans back on the bed. “Sorry. Bite me, please.”
She nods. “Better.”
* * *
Be the change you want to see.
* * *
“You know, my mother used to have this book. It was written by this self-proclaimed swami who believed that if we go against what our souls need, the disharmony in our bodies makes us sick. Like, if we don’t say what we’re feeling, we’ll get a sore throat, or if we do something we know is wrong, we’ll get a headache.”
Понравились мне и другие моменты, но боюсь, что этот пост превратится в простыню, если не остановлюсь =)
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