Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
It doesn’t add up—none of it makes sense. Danielle doesn’t like Ninja Turtles, or pizza, or climbing trees, or riding her bike. She doesn’t like skating on the lake in the winter, sledding down the big hill at turbo speed. She’s not the one Andrew calls when he’s upset, not the one he lies with in the hammock in his backyard, looking up at the stars. Maybe she’s the one he kissed at a New Year’s party, but she’s not the one he made sure to spend the night with, not the one whose room he ended up in. The pieces don’t fit. I can’t forget the way he looked at me when he told me he was in love, the way he held my hand, how I thought for that brief moment that maybe he was going to say my name.
“I have to go,” I say, stuffing everything back into my bag. I stand up and step into the circle that my dress has made on the floor, pulling it up and over me so quickly that I’m already dressed before Dean makes a move to stop me. If there’s a chance—if there’s one small chance Andrew could love me back, how can I possibly go through tonight without finding out?
“What the fuck?” Dean says, springing off the bed.
“I have to go,” I repeat, heading toward the door.
“You can’t just leave,” he says. “You promised.”
“Well, I changed my mind,” I say.
“You can’t do that,” he says.
“Actually,” I say, hand on the doorknob, “I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“That’s bullshit,” he says.
“This whole thing is bullshit,” I say, the truth of it making me laugh. “You and your pretentious shirts, and your motorcycle, and your movie references. It’s like you’re not even a real person. You’re just trying so hard to be this cool guy. Well, I don’t want someone cool! I want . . .” I think back to what Hannah said to me in the dressing room. “I want someone whose weirdness matches my weirdness!” I throw open the door and then stop suddenly, filled with the need to tell him the truth. “And just for the record, I am a virgin.”
And then I’m running out of the room and to the elevator. Because I need to find him. I need to ask him about this card—need to find out if it’s a mistake, if it’s a joke, if it means nothing at all. I’ve been so in my head, so close to the situation that I haven’t been able to grasp the cold, hard truth until now. Because the truth is: I don’t want to have sex with Dean.