Kody Keplinger · 280 pages
Rating: (157.5K votes)
“Spanish, huh?" he said, glancing down at the scattered papers as he grabbed them. "Can you say anything interesting?"
"El tono de tu voz hace que queria estrangularme." I stood up and waited for him to hand over my papers.
"That sounds sexy," he said, getting to his feet and handing me the stack of Spanish work he'd swept together. "What's it mean?"
"The sound of your voice makes me want to strangle myself."
"Kinky.”
“No matter where you go or what you do to distract yourself, reality catches up with you eventually.”
“First:
"Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls. They chase him.”
Then:
“You’re right. Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, and I’m not chasing you”
But in the end:
"Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, but I’m chasing you" ♥”
“Wesley Rush doesn't chase girls, but I'm chasing you.”
“Your sense of humor needs some work, then,' Wesley suggested. 'Most girls find my jokes charming.'
'Those girls must have IQs low enough to trip over.”
“I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I'm insanely jealous of Tucker - something I never thought I'd say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one.
Only you.”
“I don't like him," I explained. "He annoys the hell out of me ninety-six percent of the time, and sometimes I'd like nothing better than to strangle him to death. But at the same time I... I want him to be happy. I think about him way more than I should, and I -"
"You love him.”
“Thanks,” Toby said. “And if Wesley breaks your heart, I promise to . . . well, I would say I’d kick his ass, but we both
know that’s physically impossible.” He frowned down at his skinny arms. “So I’ll write him a strongly worded letter.”
“Bianca, whore is just a cheap word people use to cut each other down," he said. His voice softer. "It makes them feel better about their own mistakes. Using words like that is easier than really looking into the situation. I promise you, you're not a whore."
I looked at him, into his warm gray eyes, and suddently understood what he was trying to tell me. The message hidden beneath the words.
You're not alone.”
“You can lie to yourself if you want, but reality is going to catch up with you. I’ll be waiting when it does… whether you like it or not.”
“I was the Duff. And that was a good thing. Because anyone who didn't feel like the Duff must not have friends. Every girl feels unattractive sometimes. Why had it taken me so long to figure that out? Why had I been stressing over that dumb word for so long when it was so simple? I should be proud to be the Duff. Proud to have great friends who, in their minds, were my Duffs.”
“Just when I think you might have a soul, you say shit like that.”
“I wanted to make sure you were fine...and that he was okay, too. You didn't, like, stab the boy, did you? I mean, I totally disapprove of murdering hotties, but if you need help burying the body, you know I'll bring the shovel.”
“"...we’re all fucking Duffs.”
(Designated Ugly Fat Friend)
“I’m not the Duff,” Wesley said confidently.
“That’s because you don’t have friends.” (Bianca)
“Oh. Right.””
“Wesley Rush was the most disgusting womanizing playboy to ever darken the doorstep of Hamilton High… but he was kind of hot. Maybe if you could put him on mute… and cut off his hands… maybe—just maybe—he’d be tolerable then. Otherwise, he was a real piece of shit. Horn dog shit.”
“He was sweet and charming and smart... but my feelings for Wesley were way beyond that. I'd skipped the crush kiddie pool and jumped right into the deep, shark-infested ocean of emotions. And, if you'll forgive the dramatic metaphor, I was a lousy swimmer.”
“You're a disgusting, shallow, womanizing jackass, and I hope that soda stains your preppy little shirt." Just before I marched away, i looked over my shoulder and added, "And my name isn't Duffy. it's Bianca. we've been in the same homeroom since middle school, you selfabsorbed son of a bitch.”
“I’m the wind beneath your wings”
“Go try your charming act on some tramp with low self-esteem, because I'm not falling for it.”
“No rush. This time things were slow and earnest. This time I wasn't looking for an escape. This time it was about him. About me. About honesty and compassion and everything I'd never expected to find in Wesley Rush.”
“Calling Vikki a slut or a whore was just like calling somebody the Duff. It was insulting and hurtful, and it was one of those titles that just fed off the inner fear every girl must have from time to time. Slut, bitch, prude, tease, ditz. They were all the same. Every girl felt like one of these sexist labels described her at some point.”
“I kissed someone tonight."
"Good for you. Now go back to sleep."
"It was Wesley...Wesley Rush."
Casey shot straight up in bed. "Whoa!" She shook her head and rubbed the sleep from her wide hazel eyes. "Okay, now I'm awake.”
“He wasn't perfect, or even remotely close, for that matter, but, hey, neither was I. We were both pretty fucked up. Somehow, though, that made everything more exciting. Yeah, it was sick and twisted, but that's reality, right? Escape is impossible, so why not embrace it?”
“Don’t lie to yourself because you think nit’s safer. Reality doesn’t work like that…”
“Wesley Rush doesn't date, he fucks - everyone, for that matter.”
“Yeah, it was sick and twisted, but
that’s reality, right? Escape is impossible, so why not
embrace it?”
“I'm perfectly fine with being used. But I would like to know for what I'm being used.
Distraction
That much I gathered. What am I supposed to be distracting you from? There's a chance that if I knew, I could do my job more effectively.”
“I shook my head. "Don’t bother making excuses," I said. "Don’t waste your time because, the fact is, I am the Duff. But so is everyone else in the world. We’re all fucking Duffs."
"I’m not the Duff," Wesley said confidently.
"That’s because you don’t have friends."
"Oh. Right.”
“I mean, there is a reason its initials are VD. I bet you more people contract syphilis on Valentine's Day than on any other day of the year. What a cause for celebration.”
“The winter sky has already turned black, but I could still see Wesley's gray eyes in the darkness. They were exactly the color of the sky before a thunderstorm.”
“El júbilo de ver de nuevo su rostro,
de volver a abrazarla, de escuchar su
risa, de verla comer, de mirar sus manos
otra vez, la dicha de contemplar su
cuerpo desnudo, de besar su cuerpo
desnudo, de ver cómo frunce el ceño,
cómo se cepilla el pelo, se pinta las
uñas, la alegría de estar otra vez con
ella en la ducha, de hablar de libros con
ella otra vez, de ver cómo se le llenan
los ojos de lágrimas, de ver cómo
camina, de oír cómo insulta a Ángela, el
regocijo de leerle en voz alta, de oírla
eructar, de ver cómo se cepilla los
dientes, el gozo de desnudarla de nuevo,
de juntar otra vez la boca con la suya, de
mirarle la nuca, el placer de andar por
la calle con ella, de ponerle el brazo
sobre los hombros, de lamerle los
pechos de nuevo, de penetrar en su
cuerpo, de volver a despertarse a su
lado, de hablar de matemáticas con ella,
de comprarle ropa, de darle y recibir
masajes en la espalda, de volver a
hablar de su porvenir, la alegría de vivir
otra vez con ella en el presente, de oírla
decir que lo quiere, de decirle que la
quiere, de volver a sentir la mirada de
sus intensos ojos negros, y luego la
tortura de verla abordar el autobús en la
terminal de Port Authority en la tarde
del 3 de enero con la plena conciencia
de que hasta abril, dentro de más de tres
meses, no tendrá ocasión de volver a
estar con ella.”
“So [in mathematics] we get to play and imagine whatever we want and make patterns and ask questions about them. But how do we answer these questions? It’s not at all like science. There’s no experiment I can do ... The only way to get at the truth about our imaginations is to use our imaginations, and that is hard work.”
“A lot of what we're doing here deals with perception rather than truth. Many would argue that reality depends more on the former than the latter.”
“Never before had I raced in an angry mood and I couldn't believe how powerful it was. Now I understood why Lance used anger so effectively and why he hated the people he had to beat at the tour.”
“When we’re young nothing offends us, except adults telling us what should. Then when we become adults, nothing offends us, except we are offended on behalf of our young.”
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