“I’ve not told you the whole truth about me,” I whisper. “Have you lied about the way you cry at movies that aren’t even sad?” He can hear that? I hope he didn’t hear me sobbing at Ratatouille last week. Linguini really shouldn’t have put that little rat in the jar. I feel myself blush. “No.” “Have you lied about your passion for swimming?” I shake my head. “Have you lied about the way you keep going, despite everything that’s happened to you here?” I shake my head, biting down a smile. “Did you lie about the way your reaction to any kind of hardship in life is to pull out a crossword book?”
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