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But it was only with serious effort that I could pick up memories from the previous sixteen years. Maybe because those memories paled in comparison to Patch. Or maybe because there was nothing good there at all.
I hadn’t woken up this morning looking for another reason to hate Marcie Millar, but there you go.
Nora told me you used to try to get her to eat roly-polies.” Before Scott could defend himself, I said, “He used to fry them alive under a magnifying glass, and he didn’t try to get me to eat them. He sat on top of me and pinched my nose until I ran out of air and had to open my mouth. Then he flicked them inside.”
“If I were you, I’d bail,” Vee said, her four-inch heels stabbing down the steps behind me. “That’s what I do whenever I find myself in a jam. Call Scott and tell him your cat’s coughing up mice intestines, and you have to take it to the vet after school.” “He was over here last night. He knows I don’t have a cat.” “Then unless he’s got overcooked spaghetti for brains, he’ll figure out you’re not interested.”
“Just hurry up or your doughnut is going to make the endangered species list.”
The only thing I had left was hope.
Why did everyone think I needed a new boyfriend? I didn’t need a new boyfriend. I’d had enough of boyfriends to last a lifetime. The only thing a boyfriend was good for was a shattered heart.