“How am I supposed to know?” she asked instead. “What’s it supposed to be like?”
Lana and Claire traded tiny smiles, and Claire asked gently, “What’s what supposed to be like?”
Lily slumped back against the sofa, feeling boneless and muddled. “Falling in love, I guess.”
“You’ll know,” Claire said. “It’s unmistakable.”
(How she could recognize Kath at the other end of a crowded Galileo hallway by the way she walked.)
“It’s like . . . well, it’s like falling,” Lana said. “Falling, or floating, or sinking.”
(Every time they kissed.)
“You won’t know which way is up.”
“It’s like having a fever.”
(The way the world seemed to narrow down to the tips of Kath’s fingers.)
“It’s like being drunk—drunk for days.”
―
Malinda Lo,
Last Night at the Telegraph Club
