Are you kidding? I'm supposed to put my books in this filthy tin coffin?

No, I'm too busy trying to deflect your Power of Stupidity. But I don't think I'm strong enough.

So why did I think about her every second? Why was I so much happier the minute I saw her? I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sure? I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to find out. Guys don't talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.

The way she told it, she was such a criminal even the most God-fearing church ladies got bored of reporting on her; she did the marketing on Sunday, dropped by any church she liked or none at all, was a feminist (which Mrs. Asher sometimes confused with communist), a Democrat (which Mrs. Lincoln pointed out practically had "demon" in the word itself), and, worst of all, a vegetarian (which ruled out any dinner invitations from Mrs. Snow).

Those were the 'ifs' that kept me from making a fool of myself.

I wanted to stay this way forever. Which, it turns out, was exactly five more minutes.

A kiss that was every bit as big and every bit as small as a kiss can be.