People tend to pair off that way, Cath thought, in matched sets.

There’s no such thing as handsome princes, she told herself. There’s no such thing as happily ever after.

She bent her neck back and kissed him like she never had before. Like she wasn't scared of doing it wrong.

You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out.

She saw him after seventh hour in a place she'd never seen him before, carrying a microscope down the hall on the third floor. It was at least twice as nice as seeing him somewhere she expected him to be.

I look like a hobo?" "Worse," he said. "Like a sad hobo clown." "And you like it?" "I love it." As soon as he said it, she broke into a smile. And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did.

In some cases, she was actively trying not to make friends, though she usually stopped short of being rude. (Uptight, tense, and mildly misanthropic? Yes. Rude? No.)