She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.

You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own.

I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.

Because I've heard so many stories that I don't know which one is the most popular. But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.

And as I stood there in the hallway―alone―trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realized the truth: I wasn't worth an explanation―not even a reaction. Not in your eyes.

I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.

I swear, guys in groups are capable of the stupidest things." "Like war," Kellan says, heaping napkins and ketchup packets onto her tray. "And jumping off rooftops." "And lighting their farts on fire," she says.