I Want Scott To Look At Me

I Don't Have A Car." His Eyes Sliced Into Mine. "i Walked Here," I Explained. "i'm On Foot." "angel," He Said In A Way That Sounded Like He Sincerely Hoped I Was Joking.

That’s An Unfortunate Place For A Birthmark,” I Said, More Than A Little Unnerved That It Was So Similarly Positioned To My Own Scar. Patch Casually But Noticeably Slid His Sleeve Down Over His Wrist. “you’d Prefer It Someplace More Private?” “i Wouldn’t Prefer It Anywhere.” I Wasn’t Sure How This Sounded And Tried Again. “i Wouldn’t Care If You Didn’t Have It At All.” I Tried A Third Time. “i Don’t Care About Your Birthmark, Period.

If We Hooked Up, He Could Write Me Ballads And Stuff. You Gotta Admit, Nothing's Sexier Than A Guy Who Writes Music.

For Someone Who’s Made It Clear That Her Life Is Superior To Every Other Student’s At This School, You Sure Make It A Habit Of Pursuing Every Facet Of Our Boring, Worthless Lives.

My Arms Hurt From How Tightly Patch Held Me. “now That’s What I Call A Scream,” He Said, Grinning At Me.