The Anatomical Shape of a Heart

What do I want?” His fingers brushed over loose strands of hair near my temple. “I want to call you every five minutes. I want to text you good night every night. I want to make you laugh. And I want you to look at me like you did that first night on the bus.

I don’t want my mistakes to affect everyone else in the room,” I said after a moment. “I want to keep to myself and do as little damage as possible.

Too weird for jocks, and not weird enough for hipsters, I was neither freak nor geek, and that left me stranded in no-man’s-land.

You're like ten prismacolors all at once.

He was kissing me like we were both on fire and he was trying to put the flames out, and I kissed him back like an arsonist with a pocketful of matches.

Hey, Bex?” Jack said as he grated. “Just so we’re clear, if we were alone, I’d probably kiss you right now.” I gave him a swift glance as the hallway laughter made its way back to the kitchen. “Just so we’re clear, I’d probably let you.

Mom says you should never ask for advice you aren’t willing to take. I wasn’t sure I agreed. Having an unbiased pair of eyes point out a sensible solution was helpful. But the sensible thing and the right thing weren’t always the same choice, and no one but you could truly understand the difference.

Beatrix Adams," he said. "You know I trust you with everything. The anatomical representation of my heart, my life...even my car." "You must really love me," I said, matching my steps with his. I knew he did, of course. We try not to say it casually too much, because we want it to mean something. Not just a throwaway phrase like "How's it going" or "See you later." But when I'm in his arms, when we're alone, he whispers "I love you," and those three words never stop amazing me. Never.

This was the night bus, not a Journey song. Two strangers were not on a midnight train going anywhere. I was going home, and he was probably going to knock over a liquor store.

Feeling alive is always worth the risk.

I’m not sure what I feel. All I know is that I’m tired of being the innocent bystander who gets punched in the gut. It’s their fight—Mom and Dad’s. But how come Heath and I are the ones who end up bruised?” He rearranged one of my braids and wound the loose tail around the tip of his index finger. “Because everything we do in life affects someone else. Buddhists say that inside and outside are basically the same thing. It’s like we’re all trapped together in a small room. If someone pisses in the corner, we all have to worry about it trickling across the floor and getting our shoes wet.

Yeah. I guess I’m a color-inside-the-lines girl. Worse, really—I’d rather shade inside the lines with a nice, light 4H pencil. Something dark like a 5B or 6B? That’s me going nuts.” He laughed, stretching out his long legs

Do you ride?” That sounded sort of dirty, and the way he looked at me felt sort of dirty, too. No one ever looked at me like that. “Why ‘Ghost’?” I asked. Grasping the top of the car door, he leaned over it and spoke in a dramatic, foreboding voice. “Because she’s so fast she disappears down the streets at night.” “That sounds dangerous.” His dimple appeared. “The best things in life are.

Feeling alive is merely a rush of adrenaline.

Doing nothing can cause as much damage as doing something.

And then he was kissing me like we were both on fire and he was trying to put the flames out, and I kissed him back like an arsonist with a pocketful of matches.

Everything we do in life affects someone else.

And you’re apparently made of mountain. Are you sure you’re an engineer and not a lumberjack?

I like the way bones and skin move, and I like seeing how all of the chambers of the heart fit together

I will fix it for you. Hand on my heart, Bex Adams, I will fix it

If you want to take me somewhere, give me your wallet

Distichiasis. Your eyelashes. A genetic mutation that causes double rows of lashes

I'm not one of those cool, creative kids in my art class who make skirts out of trash bags and paint in crazy colours.

Why is the vegetarian Buddhist dressed like a jewel thief?

Wow. Snubbed by a homeless guy. My night was getting better and better

My brother was right about one thing: I didn't really know how to be bad

I was eighteen, baby! I could finally... vote and buy all those cartons of cigarettes I'd been pining for. Yippee

But you know, sometimes people smile when they're sad. And sometimes girls who look sad are really smiling

Earth to Beatrix: This was the night bus, not a Journey song. Two strangers were not on a midnight train going anywhere. I was going home, and he was probably going to knock over a liquor store. When

Para ocultar mi sonrisa, fingí mirar a un coche que pasaba. Pero no importó, porque el tranvía se acercaba a la parada. Me subí antes que Jack, dando pequeños brincos. Incluso saludé al conductor. Sí, definitivamente estaba perdida.