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This, needless to say, makes him the polar opposite of Kenji, who loves to eat everything, all the time, and who later told me that watching Warner eat a cookie made him want to cry.
He never did teach me how to ride a bike. I figured that out on my own.
“Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.”
“The world tried to crush you,” I say, gently now, “and you refused to be shattered.
“Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.”
“Those who do not understand you,” I say softly, “will always doubt you.”
Because I’ve never been in love before, so I don’t know if this is love or if I just have, like, food poisoning?”
“I mean, I’ve always known I had a great face. But now I know, like, for sure that I’ve got a great face. And it’s just so validating.”
I will lose her. And it will kill me.
“Bro, are you drunk?” “What?” I slap at the air. Laugh. “I don’t drink. My father is an alcoholic, didn’t you know? I don’t touch the stuff. No, wait”—I hold up a finger—“was an alcoholic. My father was an alcoholic. He’s dead now. Quite dead.”
