Social Suicide

The first thing I did was run. Okay, actually the first thing I did was scream, lose my balance, flail my arms in the air like some kind of uncoordinated bird, then slide down the side of the tree and land on my butt. Then I ran.

Mental face palm. Suddenly I wasn't sure there was enough room on the campus for both me and his ego.

I need to be casual but not too casual. Dressy but not too dressy. I need him to think I just threw on the first thing I found and that I'm not taking this too seriously or overthinking it or even that I was thinking about it at all. Because I'm not. I'm totally not thinking about him, and I don't want him to think I was thinking about him, but I don't want him to think that I'm not thinking about him, because clearly he thought about me enough to ask me out and it would be mean not to be thinking about him at all, so I need just the right amount of thinking, and I'm not sure if that means boots and a skirt or skinny jeans and ballet flats. Help!

She went in the pool," she finished for me. "Ohmigod. She was killed while tweeting. It was Twittercide!

Chase leaned in close. "hey" What? Are you wearing perfume? No... why would I be wearing perfume?... You sure you're not wearing anything? It smells like jasmine. Must be the bushes

Bull-fluff. You didn't break up with a girlfriend of a whole year because of stuff.

To say I didn't have great luck in the guy department was like saying Ryan Seacrest didn't have great luck in the height department: total understatement.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the hippo squatting on my head.

Connor Crane was currently the secret crush of half the female HHH population. And a couple of the males, too.