That was the beauty in stacking up words--they got cheaper, the more you had of them.

I object to every single thing you just said.

Like, really like you. And i want that kiss to have been the start of something. Not the end.

"What about him?" she’d say, finding an attractive guy to point out while they were standing in the lunch line. "Do you want to kiss him?" "I don’t want to kiss a stranger," Cath would answer. "I’m not interested in lips out of context."

She wanted to lose herself in him. To tie his arms around her like a tourniquet. If she showed him how much she needed him, he'd run away.

That moment," she told Cath, "when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently - that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore.

I just had this feeling about you," she said. "Is that foolish?" "I hope not.