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Her mental field guide to making friends is a two-page pamphlet that just says: DON’T.
Truth is, when you spend your whole life alone, it’s incredibly appealing to move somewhere big enough to get lost in, where being alone looks like a choice.
The hottest girl August has ever seen just took one look at her and said, “Yikes.”
She can’t believe a tall butch subway angel saw her crying into her coffee tits.
“I can’t decide if I’m impressed or horrified.” “My favorite emotional place,” Myla says. “That’s where horny lives.”
August’s brain tries “hi” and her mouth goes for “morning” and what comes out is, “Horny.”
“Sometimes. But, you know, that feeling? When you wake up in the morning and you have somebody to think about? Somewhere for hope to go? It’s good. Even when it’s bad, it’s good.”
The older she’s gotten, the more she prefers thinking of love as a hobby for other people, like rock climbing or knitting. Fine, enviable even, but she doesn’t feel like investing in the equipment.
She’s going to have to say this out loud, isn’t she? Bella Swan, eat your horny little Mormon heart out.
“Sometimes the point is to be sad, August. Sometimes you just have to feel it because it deserves to be felt.”
