“How do you always know just what to say?" I ask.
His laugh rumbles through me. "Practice, I guess."
I pull back and give him a quizzical look.
"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging me close.
"I should hope I know what to say now that I've got you.”
“You're watching me, princess." His soft lips spread into an appreciative smile.
"People might get the wrong idea."
"What, that I actually like you now?" I tease.
He shakes his head and leans toward me. "No, that you're trying to see past me to get an eyeful of Benson."
-------------------------------------------
I shift my gaze to the board and fix an innocent look on my face.
"What makes you think that's the WRONG idea?"
Quince leans even closer and says, "Because you came back for me.”
“You'll do fine."
"What, you're psychic now?"
"Didn't you know?" he asks seriously. "Must be an aftereffect of the bond.”
“Are you going to distract me by playing footsie?"
"Absolutely, princess," he says with a wink.
"Then I won't remember a thing."
"It's a samurai training technique," he teases, spinning the test prep book toward him. "I distract you as much as possible right now." He slides the book into his lap. "And you'll learn how to test through anything.”
“Pleased to meet you," Tellin says, shaking me out of my reverie. "Lily told me much about you last weekend."
"Funny." Quince throws me a questioning glance. "She didn't mention you at all.”
“You'll get in," Quince assures me, proving once again that he can read my mind, even without a magical bond. "And if you don't," he adds, slinging an arm around my shoulders, "you can always take over for me at the lumberyard."
"Ha ha," I reply, sending a sharp elbow into his ribs.
"Lighten up, princess.”
“The way to a man’s heart is through his chest!”
“I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.”
“Estamos aquí sentados, anteponiendo la Enciclopedia a todo lo demás. Consideramos que el objeto de la ciencia es la clasificación de los datos pasados. Es importante, ¿pero no hay nada más que hacer? Estamos retrocediendo y olvidando, ¿no lo ven?”
“It’s 1936, in Flint, Michigan. Times are hard. Ten-year-old Bud is a motherless boy on the run, and his momma never told him who his father was. But she left a clue: posters of Herman”
“Now what state do you live in?'
'Denial.”
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