Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I’m … just listening to music while I do homework, guy.”
wondering how girls have such soft hands, wondering what Kelsey’s hands feel like,
“That’s the CDC!”
“Hey! It’s not all about you. He’s sick. Probably thought he had a little cold. But you know what? He made a mistake. He’s not out to get you or ruin your day. Not everything is about you!” Hot tears suddenly sting my eyes, and I sit down.
“Of course there’s a dumb girl,” I say to myself, but Oliver’s cot isn’t that far away from me, so he hears me.
text from Kelsey: OMG. 30 days of QUARANTINE?! Can I be your nurse? ;) And the idea of her taking care of me is sweet and amazing and makes my chest feel warm,
I don’t want Oliver to be my boyfriend. I didn’t kiss him because I liked him. I kissed him because … I’m still trying to figure it out when we walk outside.
I feel myself blushing again. I don’t like hearing about poop with anyone, much less the first girl who kissed me.
No pot of gold at the end of this rainbow? Quarantine over the rainbow?
“I’m sorry your life is so hard, that your dad married some bimbo. But you know what? I like my life okay, and you just ruined it.”
Isn’t mono a kissing disease? Who’d kiss him? from Blaine Robert. We were friends in elementary school, used to play Star Wars together.
kiss was quick, but I still noticed how soft Flora’s skin was.
fills out his scrubs nicely.
miss talking to Oliver. I miss Oliver.
Thirty days is so much longer than thirty minutes.
checking my phone. First I check my texts, then my email, then Kelsey’s Facebook, then Instagram. It makes a nice little circle in my head, and the routine comforts me.
“I messed up,” she says plainly, unemotionally. “I know you wanted to get home, I know there’s a girl, and I’m sorry.”
“What are you doing?” I ask slowly. “Making our hashtag.” “Our what?” “Hashtag!” “Right, sorry, I know what a hashtag is, but what is our hashtag? Why is our hashtag, err …” I trail off.
“I bring you the world’s first hashtag for quarantined teenagers. Or should I say … quaranteens!”
“Why would anyone want to go to quarantine with me?” he says. I look at his cool-breeze eyes, think about running my hands through his hair, think about his soft lips when I kissed him. I can think of a few reasons why.
“When you try to look mad, your nose gets these wrinkles. It’s really …” He stops, suddenly serious. “It’s really—”
“Hey, gang!” he says. “Or should I say, quaranteens.”
I’m trying not to freak out that there’s a girl on my bed. I can’t believe I almost said her nose wrinkles were cute. Are cute. They’re adorable. I’ve never been able to compliment a girl on anything, and the first thing I go for is nose wrinkles.
“Well, if I went to high school with you, I’d already be on a plane on my way down here.”
“Why don’t you think she’s my girlfriend?” Oliver crosses his arms over his chest. “Why would she be your girlfriend?” Oliver’s mom looks me up and down. I can tell she doesn’t like what she sees. “I wish she were my girlfriend, Mom. She’s amazing. And strong, and smart, and brave. And she stands up for what’s right.”
My mom has my Snapchat friends list memorized.
hate that he has dimples. I hate that when he touches me, usually I feel a jolt of electricity, even through the hazmat suit. And I hate that he keeps making fun of Oliver.
“You’re the roommate! I hope you’ve been taking good care of my Oliver. I can be his nurse now.”
“Posting this immediately! Hashtag quaranteen!” Hearing her use the hashtag I came up with makes me want to listen to a punk song and punch walls again. Instead I smile and say, “It’s trending!” Kelsey says, “Oh, I know! I practically have a celebrity boyfriend!”
I’m grasping at straws, but I hear the punk song starting in my head again.
“It’s normal,” Joey says. Then, under his breath, “Maybe the only normal thing about him.” “What was that last part?” Flora asks. “Nothing, just teasing our little Romeo.” He nudges me again, harder than he needs to, like always.
Now I’m craving hairy pancakes.
questions. Creeped out and still … fake. These people don’t know anything about me. The real me. They don’t know that my favorite food is grilled cheese, that I hate raisins, that I broke my wrist in second grade, that I’m afraid of swimming in the ocean.
You’ll see how big her heart is.” “That’s not the only thing about her that’s big,” I mutter. “What was that, Flora?” “Nothing.”
He thinks the dragon tattoo on the woman’s forearm should be named Saphira.
