Crush Cute Quotes

For a long time,’ Nico said, ‘I had a crush on you. I just wanted you to know.’ Percy looked at Nico. Then at Annabeth, as if to check that he’d heard correctly. Then back at Nico. ‘You –’ ‘Yeah,’ Nico said. ‘You’re a great person. But I’m over that. I’m happy for you guys.’ ‘You … so you mean –’ ‘Right.’ Annabeth’s grey eyes started to sparkle. She gave Nico a sideways smile. ‘Wait,’ Percy said. ‘So you mean –’ ‘Right,’ Nico said again. ‘But it’s cool. We’re cool. I mean, I see now … you’re cute, but you’re not my type.’ ‘I’m not your type … Wait. So –’ ‘See you around, Percy,’ Nico said.

When did you first fall in love?" "I think, I first fell in love when I was in fifth grade with this boy who kept his glass ruler in the sunlight and made rainbows on my desk with it.

OMG OMG OMG, Shane is totally crushing on the new roomie! I can’t believe it. I always pictured Shane going after blond beach hotties. Who knew he liked big brains and teeny little bodies? Although, to be fair, she is cute as a button. (Why do we say that? What’s so cute about a button, anyway?)

Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.

Angel?" I said. "Baby penguins eat a regurgitated mixture of partially digested fish, krill, and an oily substance form their fathers' stomachs. Are you willing to eat a bunch of raw fish and krill, and then barf it back up into a baby penguin's cute, cheeping mouth? Like, every hour?" Sometimes my crushing logic astounds even me.

The first time I heard you laugh, I only wanted to say funny things so you would always be laughing. You know what happens to chocolate when you leave it out in the sun? I’m that unfortunate chocolate and you, you are the laughing sun. For this reason, I am offering myself to you not as a martyr or some selfless fool, but as a self-indulgent moth who actively pursues the light without much fear for the flame. The moth who revels in the heat and declares: Burn me.

Whom have you fallen in love with?' I ask. 'Well, there was you,' the prince says. 'When we were children.' 'Me?' I ask incredulously. 'You didn't know?' He appears to be merry in the face of my astonishment. 'Oh yes. Though you were a year my senior, and it was hopeless, I absolutely mooned over you. When you were gone from Court, I refused any food but tea and toast for a month.' I cannot help snorting at the sheer absurdity of his statement. He puts a hand to my heart. 'Ah, and now you laugh. It is my curse to adore cruel women.

You're so blantantly attracted to me, it's hard not to tease you

Everything in the least connected with him has value for me; if someone even mentions his name it is like a little present to me--and I long to mention it myself, I start subjects leading up to it, and then feel myself going red. I keep swearing to myself not to speak of him again- and then an opportunity occurs and I jump at it.

She could've looked at the tiny miracles in front of her: my feet, my hands, my fingers, the shape of my shoulders beneath my jacket, my human body, but she only stared at my eyes. The wind whipped again, through the trees, but it had no force, no power over me. The cold bit at my fingers, but they stayed fingers. "Grace,"I said, very softly. "Say something." "Sam," She said, and I crushed her to me.

My phone buzzes again. Crush: You're single. I'm single. Let's mingle.

Jonah was cute and all before I left, but in Paris he became a God. It was a rather simple equation: loneliness + silly crush - reality check = full-blown obsession.

Now what?” he finally asked. Téa came to stand in the doorway of her office. “Now what, what? Hey, is that you, Cal?” “Affirmative.” Affirmative? Was that the cutest or what?

And since when does Hell have royalty? I thought they were all bureaucrats.” “Oh, sweetie,” he says, patronizing. “That’s cute.” “What’s cute?” “That you think celebrity children of powerful people aren’t royalty.” “Are you accusing me of being a Hilton?” I sputter. “Or a, a–” my head might explode, “Kardashian?” “The Hellish equivalent.

I want queer authors to write anything and everything they need to write. I have no interest in gatekeeping; I want the full spectrum. I want the coming out books. I want the books about queer suffering. I want on-page catharsis and exploration of trauma. I want the happy books, too: queer joy books, cute romantic comedies, first crush books, fantasies about queer royals and revolutionaries and spaceship captains. (...) We need all types of queer stories because all types of queer people exist. I want the market to be so saturated with queer books that anyone who needs to see themselves in a story—anyone who hasn’t yet seen themselves, hasn’t yet gotten to be the hero—can walk into any bookstore and find a book (or six) about someone who experiences the world like they do. I want every queer author to get the chance to tell their story. To tell people, We exist everywhere. We suffer, we survive, we love. We can be magic, too.

Contemplations on the belly When pregnant with our first, Dean and I attended a child birth class. There were about 15 other couples, all 6-8 months pregnant, just like us. As an introduction, the teacher asked us to each share what had been our favorite part of pregnancy and least favorite part. I was surprised by how many of the men and women there couldn't name a favorite part. When it was my turn, I said, "My least favorite has been the nausea, and my favorite is the belly." We were sitting in the back of the room, so it was noticeable when several heads turned to get a look at me. Dean then spoke. "Yeah, my least favorite is that she was sick, and my favorite is the belly too." Now nearly every head turned to gander incredulously at the freaky couple who actually liked the belly. Dean and I laughed about it later, but we were sincere. The belly is cool. It is one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, an unmistakable sign of what's going on inside, the wigwam for our little squirmer, the mark of my undeniable superpower of baby-making. I loved the belly and its freaky awesomeness, and especially the flutters, kicks, and bumps from within. Twins belly is a whole new species. I marvel at the amazing uterus within and skin without with their unceasing ability to stretch (Reed Richards would be impressed). I still have great admiration for the belly, but I also fear it. Sometimes I wonder if I should build a shrine to it, light some incense, offer up gifts in an attempt both to honor it and avoid its wrath. It does seem more like a mythic monstrosity you'd be wise not to awaken than a bulbous appendage. It had NEEDS. It has DEMANDS. It will not be taken lightly (believe me, there's nothing light about it). I must give it its own throne, lying sideways atop a cushion, or it will CRUSH MY ORGANS. This belly is its own creature, is subject to different laws of growth and gravity. No, it's not a cute belly, not a benevolent belly. It would have tea with Fin Fang Foom; it would shake hands with Cthulhu. It's no wonder I'm so restless at night, having to sleep with one eye open. Nevertheless, I honor you, belly, and the work you do to protect and grow my two precious daughters inside. Truly, they must be even more powerful than you to keep you enslaved to their needs. It's quite clear that out of all of us, I'm certainly not the one in control. I am here to do your bidding, belly and babies. I am your humble servant.

Oh, that’s cute,” Sebastian chuckled. “The dragon has a crush on you, Kitten.” -Destiny Fulfilled, 2010

Great. Men affectionately attacked me with sticks to show their admiration.

I liked cute things. I liked to crush them and break them and see what would become of all the jagged little pieces. Perhaps my definition of “cute” was just a little different.

We can say guys are cute withiut having a crush on them, they're just pleasing to look at.

Robin: Parang crush ko si Cate Bhert: Brake. Crush as in, "Uy Cute Niya, Ah Well It's Just A Though Crush." Or "Shit, Sisipsipin Ko Ang Sukang Natapon Sa Binti Niya Crush." Robin: Bandang gitna

Normally I'd have given up by now, but he was so cute I decided that he was entitled to be difficult. I mean, I may get distracted sometimes, but I always saved a special space at the back of my mind for Sean, like the Presidential Suit at Ritz Carlton. Throughout the first two years of high school, I let him stay there in peace, undisturbed by my meaningless flings which came and went in the hotel lobby.

His first thought – what felt like his first thought ever, it formed so slowly in his brain – was that she looked like a doll. Just like a doll. Her eyes were large and bright and feline; her hair was chestnut, brushed to a hardwood shine, parted sharply and flowing to her thighs; her lips were cupid’s-bow-cute; her head was tilted to one side on a long, long neck. She had skin that had never seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all. He noticed her. And she noticed, and kept on noticing, him. Stanley looked down for a third and longer time. It wasn’t polite to stare. Not at girls. Or anyone. But especially not girls. Not even girls who looked like perfect porcelain dolls.

I lean closer and whisper. "I'm already there, so I guess I'll wait for you

A minute ago you told me that you thought I was cute.” “Yeah,” Leo said. “I mean, I do think that. But you’re not my girlfriend. You’re my person.” I knew right away what he meant. I thought he was cute and he thought I was cute but it was different than it was when people have crushes. With Leo I’d fallen into another kind of like. I couldn’t wait to tell him stuff and I loved hearing him laugh at my jokes and I loved laughing at his jokes. He made me feel like I had a spot in the world. It felt as if Leo and I could like each other all our lives. So I hugged him. He was my person too.

Even I can appreciate a cute guy. How can a girl not? It's not the looking part that counts anyway. It's the touching. My theory is you can look at all the eye candy you want and still appreciate what you have at home

And she did think Robert was cute. Not so cute that she would have, say, gone up to him at a party, but cute enough that she could have drummed up an imaginary crush on him if he'd sat across from her during a dull class.

I laughed. “No, trust me, it’s a good thing. You’re cute and funny and talented too, and any girl would be lucky to date you.” “I sense a but coming,” he said wryly. “But—” “But she’s busy,” a smooth voice interrupted. “From tonight through the foreseeable future.” I turned, my pulse accelerating when I saw Alex standing less than five feet away. His gaze zeroed in on where I was still touching Jack’s arm. I pulled away, but it was too late. I could practically taste the danger pulsing in the air. Gone was the man who’d bared his soul onstage; in his place was the ruthless CEO who wouldn’t hesitate to crush his enemies into dust. “You’re the guy who performed tonight and is always waiting for Ava outside WYP.” Jack narrowed his eyes. “Who are you again?” “Someone who will rip your entrails out and strangle you with them if you don’t take your hands off her,” Alex said in a deceptively calm voice.

It was so easy to get excited about someone I didn’t know, so easy to play “crush” from afar, just like with a fictional character. As long as I never talked to Cute Boy, he was going to be perfect, a good reason to wake up tomorrow.

Anyway. You got to let go of any kind of expectation on the other person and enjoy the feeling, you know? Let the butterflies stick around. Eat it up whenever she does something cute, just because it’s cute. It’s a crush, it’s supposed to be fun.

There’s nothing more annoying than having a crush on someone and not knowing if he’s into you! Doesn’t it drive you crazy when he smiles at you, and you’re not sure if it’s because he thinks you look super cute OR he’s smiling at the CCP behind you?

They thought I was troubled after noticing the cut marks I'd made on my arms and legs, a habit I'd picked up to impress cute girls in school. I'd carve a crush's name into my shoulder, or make slashes on my forearm to win their attention. The pain was intense, but it paid off.

Brinley pulled me to the side while Ryder and Cade fetched drinks at the bar. “He’s so cute!” She clasped both my hands and practically squealed. And I’m not going to lie, part of me wanted to hop around squealing “I know” because he was the hottest guy I’d ever dated. Dated. Wow

I love Bradley Graeme. As in, would give him a kidney, would wash his socks, would turn into a supervillain if he died. I love him so much I almost want to say it out loud, a dangerous and horrifying prospect I am not remotely equipped to deal with right now. Luckily, I have something else to distract me.

This arrogant, conceited history strides with her head in the clouds and never looks down. She does not realize how she crushes millions of people beneath her feet. The common people. She doesn't understand that one may cut a mountain in two, but people? It's a hard task, Bhai, to cute one people in two. They bleed." A deep sigh coursed through the gathering. Master Fazal said, "History will keep on marching like this. The names of a few people will stick to her fabric. She will register those. there was Hitler, there was Mussolini, Churchill and Joseph Stalin, among others. this time the names maybe Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Jinnah, Subhash Bose! But the names of the lakhs and crores who have lost their lives will be nowhere. They will be mere numbers in which all of us will be included!".

Years ago, Michelle had created the four-point Jasmine Scale to track Jasmine's progression--or descent, as Michelle called it--into love. The first point on the scale was Attraction. It was the curiosity phase, where Jasmine started to wonder about the guy and noticed all the cute and charming things about him, usually while ignoring glaring flaws and red flags. Next came the Crush. In the Crush phase, Jasmine amped up the flirting, getting physically closer and making it obvious that she was interested. The third phase, Infatuation, was where she started to lose her sense of self and all good judgement. She made herself too available and did too many favors for the guy in question. After that, there was only one more step left: Falling in Love, where she threw herself headfirst into the emotional abyss.

Everyone's here except for St. Clair." Meredith cranes her neck around the cafeteria. "He's usually running late." "Always," Josh corrects. "Always running late." I clear my throat. "I think I met him last night. In the hallway." "Good hair and an English accent?" Meredith asks. "Um.Yeah.I guess." I try to keep my voice casual. Josh smirks. "Everyone's in luuurve with St. Clair." "Oh,shut up," Meredith says. "I'm not." Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend. He lets go of her hand and gives an exaggerated sigh. "Well,I am. I'm asking him to prom. This is our year, I just know it." "This school has a prom?" I ask. "God no," Rashmi says. "Yeah,Josh. You and St. Clair would look really cute in matching tuxes." "Tails." The English accent makes Meredith and me jump in our seats. Hallway boy. Beautiful boy. His hair is damp from the rain. "I insist the tuxes have tails, or I'm giving your corsage to Steve Carver instead." "St. Clair!" Josh springs from his seat, and they give each other the classic two-thumps-on-the-back guy hug. "No kiss? I'm crushed,mate." "Thought it might miff the ol' ball and chain. She doesn't know about us yet." "Whatever," Rashi says,but she's smiling now. It's a good look for her. She should utilize the corners of her mouth more often. Beautiful Hallway Boy (Am I supposed to call him Etienne or St. Clair?) drops his bag and slides into the remaining seat between Rashmi and me. "Anna." He's surprised to see me,and I'm startled,too. He remembers me. "Nice umbrella.Could've used that this morning." He shakes a hand through his hair, and a drop lands on my bare arm. Words fail me. Unfortunately, my stomach speaks for itself. His eyes pop at the rumble,and I'm alarmed by how big and brown they are. As if he needed any further weapons against the female race. Josh must be right. Every girl in school must be in love with him. "Sounds terrible.You ought to feed that thing. Unless..." He pretends to examine me, then comes in close with a whisper. "Unless you're one of those girls who never eats. Can't tolerate that, I'm afraid. Have to give you a lifetime table ban." I'm determined to speak rationally in his presence. "I'm not sure how to order." "Easy," Josh says. "Stand in line. Tell them what you want.Accept delicious goodies. And then give them your meal card and two pints of blood." "I heard they raised it to three pints this year," Rashmi says. "Bone marrow," Beautiful Hallway Boy says. "Or your left earlobe." "I meant the menu,thank you very much." I gesture to the chalkboard above one of the chefs. An exquisite cursive hand has written out the morning's menu in pink and yellow and white.In French. "Not exactly my first language." "You don't speak French?" Meredith asks. "I've taken Spanish for three years. It's not like I ever thought I'd be moving to Paris." "It's okay," Meredith says quickly. "A lot of people here don't speak French." "But most of them do," Josh adds. "But most of them not very well." Rashmi looks pointedly at him. "You'll learn the lanaguage of food first. The language of love." Josh rubs his belly like a shiny Buddha. "Oeuf. Egg. Pomme. Apple. Lapin. Rabbit." "Not funny." Rashmi punches him in the arm. "No wonder Isis bites you. Jerk." I glance at the chalkboard again. It's still in French. "And, um, until then?" "Right." Beautiful Hallway Boy pushes back his chair. "Come along, then. I haven't eaten either." I can't help but notice several girls gaping at him as we wind our way through the crowd.

Any girl faced with daily attention from a gorgeous boy with a cute accent and perfect hair would be hard-pressed not to develop a big,stinking, painful,all-the-time,all consuming crush. Not that that's what's happening to me. Like I said.It's a relief to know it won't happen. It makes things easier. Most girls laugh too hard at his jokes and find excuses to gently press his arm. To touch him.Instead,I argue and roll my eyes and act indifferent. And when I touch his arm,I shove it.Because that's what friends do. Besides,I have more important things on my mind: movies. I've been in France for a month, and though I have ridden the elevators to the top of La Tour Eiffel (Mer took me while St. Clair and Rashmi waited below on the lawn-St. Clair because he's afraid of falling and Rashmi because she refuses to do anything touristy), and though I have walked the viewing platform of L'Arc de Triomphe (Mer took me again,of course, while St. Clair stayed below and threatened to push Josh and Rashmi into the insane traffic circle),I still haven't been to the movies. Actually,I have yet to leave campus alone. Kind of embarrassing. But I have a plan.First,I'll convince someone to go to a theater with me. Shouldn't be too difficult; everyone likes the movies.And then I'll take notes on everything they say and do, and then I'll be comfortable going back to that theater alone.A

Scared?” Terrified. “Of you? Nah. If you grow claws, I might get my sword, but I’ve fought you in your human shape.” It took all my will to shrug. “You aren’t that impressive.” He cleared the distance between us in a single leap. I barely had time to jump to my feet. Steel fingers grasped my left wrist. His left arm clasped my waist. I fought, but he outmuscled me with ridiculous ease, pulling me close as if to tango. “Curran! Let . . . “ I recognized the angle of his hip but I could do nothing about it. He pulled me forward and flipped me in a classic hip-toss throw. Textbook perfect. I flew through the air, guided by his hands, and landed on my back. The air burst from my lungs in a startled gasp. Ow. “Impressed yet?” he asked with a big smile. Playing. He was playing. Not a real fight. He could’ve slammed me down hard enough to break my neck. Instead he had held me to the end, to make sure I landed right. He leaned forward a little. “Big bad merc, down with a basic hip toss. In your place I’d be blushing.” I gasped, trying to draw air into my lungs. “I could kill you right now. It wouldn’t take much. I think I’m actually embarrassed on your behalf. At least do some magic or something.” As you wish. I gasped and spat my new power word. “Osanda.” Kneel, Your Majesty. He grunted like a man trying to lift a crushing weight that fell on his shoulders. His face shook with strain. Ha-ha. He wasn’t the only one who got a boost from a flare. I got up to my feet with some leisure. Curran stood locked, the muscles of his legs bulging his sweatpants. He didn’t kneel. He wouldn’t kneel. I hit him with a power word in the middle of a bloody flare and it didn’t work. When he snapped out of it, he would probably kill me. All sorts of alarms blared in my head. My good sense screamed, Get out of the room, stupid! Instead I stepped close to him and whispered in his ear, “Still not impressed.” His eyebrows came together, as a grimace claimed his face. He strained, the muscles on his hard frame trembling with effort. With a guttural sigh, he straightened. I beat a hasty retreat to the rear of the room, passing Slayer on the way. I wanted to swipe it so bad, my palm itched. But the rules of the game were clear: no claws, no saber. The second I picked up the sword, I’d have signed my own death warrant. He squared his shoulders. “Shall we continue?” “It would be my pleasure.” He started toward me. I waited, light on my feet, ready to leap aside. He was stronger than a pair of oxen, and he’d try to grapple. If he got ahold of me, it would be over. If all else failed, I could always try the window. A forty-foot drop was a small price to pay to get away from him. Curran grabbed at me. I twisted past him and kicked his knee from the side. It was a good solid kick; I’d turned into it. It would’ve broken the leg of any normal human. “Cute,” Curran said, grabbed my arm, and casually threw me across the room. I went airborne for a second, fell, rolled, and came to my feet to be greeted by Curran’s smug face. “You’re fun to play with. You make a good mouse.” Mouse? “I was always kind of partial to toy mice.” He smiled. “Sometimes they’re filled with catnip. It’s a nice bonus.” “I’m not filled with catnip.” “Let’s find out.” He squared his shoulders and headed in my direction. Houston, we have a problem. Judging by the look in his eyes, a kick to the face simply wouldn’t faze him. “I can stop you with one word,” I said. He swiped me into a bear hug and I got an intimate insight into how a nut feels just before the nutcracker crushes it to pieces. “Do,” he said. “Wedding.” All humor fled his eyes. He let go and just like that, the game was over.

You are a beautiful woman and in this life you are 'cute, crush, you are very beautiful!' There will be a lot of things. But at the end stage, after the sex, your price is zero. That means you will get very little to worship in your beauty after enjoying it. And those who worship you even after sex, you have neglected yourself in different ways by reducing the attraction (which you do not understand). At the end of the day you will be angry, then crying. Everything is not easy to cry. You should be aware that "women's youth across the world, their demand depends on sex lives." And people are very less attracted to the same things over and over again.

And then there was the illogical art of female friendship itself, the way it seemed to demand an ability to both keep and reveal secrets using precise timing. Whenever she moved to a new town, girls would take her aside at Sunday school and breathlessly confide their crushes on certain boys. She listened to these confessions, faithfully promising she would never tell. And she didn’t. Which was all wrong because it turned out she was supposed to tell. Her job as confidante was to break that confidence by telling Boy X that Girl Y thought he was cute, thus initiating a chain reaction of interest between the two parties. “Why don’t you just tell him yourself?” she’d say to these would-be friends. “He’s right there.” The girls would draw back in horror.

Korie: I met Willie for the first time when we were in the third grade at Camp Ch-Yo-Ca, the camp I grew up at. Willie and Jase went to my session of the camp, and Alan came for high school week. Kay was cooking in the kitchen that summer, so her boys could attend the camp for free. I remember thinking Willie was the cutest thing I had ever seen and was so funny. We called him by his middle name, Jess, at the time. He had these big dimples and the cutest sideways smile. I had a diary that I never really wrote in, but that summer, I wrote: “I met a boy at summer camp and he was so cute. He asked me on the moonlight hike and I said ‘yes’!” I even wrote “Korie Loves Jess” on the bunk of the cabin I was staying in that summer. Yes, Willie asked me to go on the moonlight hike with him. It was always a big deal every summer figuring out which boy was going to ask you to accompany him on the moonlight hike, and I was thrilled when he asked me! Willie was definitely my first crush.

Alice's Cutie Code TM Version 2.1 - Colour Expansion Pack (aka Because this stuff won’t stop being confusing and my friends are mean edition) From Red to Green, with all the colours in between (wait, okay, that rhymes, but green to red makes more sense. Dang.) From Green to Red, with all the colours in between Friend Sampling Group: Fennie, Casey, Logan, Aisha and Jocelyn Green  Friends’ Reaction: Induces a minimum amount of warm and fuzzies. If you don’t say “aw”, you’re “dead inside”  My Reaction: Sort of agree with friends minus the “dead inside” but because that’s a really awful thing to say. Puppies are a good example. So is Walter Bishop. Green-Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: A noticeable step up from Green warm and fuzzies. Transitioning from cute to slightly attractive. Acceptable crush material. “Kissing.”  My Reaction: A good dance song. Inspirational nature photos. Stuff that makes me laugh. Pairing: Madison and Allen from splash Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: Something that makes you super happy but you don’t know why. “Really pretty, but not too pretty.” Acceptable dating material. People you’d want to “bang on sight.”  My Reaction: Love songs for sure! Cookies for some reason or a really good meal. Makes me feel like it’s possible to hold sunshine, I think. Character: Maxon from the selection series. Music: Carly Rae Jepsen Yellow-Orange  Friends’ Reaction: (When asked for non-sexual examples, no one had an answer. From an objective perspective, *pushes up glasses* this is the breaking point. Answers definitely skew toward romantic or sexual after this.)  My Reaction: Something that really gets me in my feels. Also art – oil paintings of landscapes in particular. (What is with me and scenery? Maybe I should take an art class) Character: Dean Winchester. Model: Liu Wren. Orange  Friends’ Reaction: “So pretty it makes you jealous. Or gay.”  “Definitely agree about the gay part. No homo, though. There’s just some really hot dudes out there.”(Feenie’s side-eye was so intense while the others were answering this part LOLOLOLOLOL.) A really good first date with someone you’d want to see again.  My Reaction: People I would consider very beautiful. A near-perfect season finale. I’ve also cried at this level, which was interesting. o Possible tie-in to romantic feels? Not sure yet. Orange-Red  Friends’ Reaction: “When lust and love collide.” “That Japanese saying ‘koi no yokan.’ It’s kind of like love at first sight but not really. You meet someone and you know you two have a future, like someday you’ll fall in love. Just not right now.” (<-- I like this answer best, yes.) “If I really, really like a girl and I’m interested in her as a person, guess. I’d be cool if she liked the same games as me so we could play together.”  My Reaction: Something that gives me chills or has that time-stopping factor. Lots of staring. An extremely well-decorated room. Singers who have really good voices and can hit and hold superb high notes, like Whitney Houston. Model: Jasmine Tooke. Paring: Abbie and Ichabod from Sleepy Hollow o Romantic thoughts? Someday my prince (or princess, because who am I kidding?) will come? Red (aka the most controversial code)  Friends’ Reaction: “Panty-dropping levels” (<-- wtf Casey???).  “Naked girls.” ”Ryan. And ripped dudes who like to cook topless.”  “K-pop and anime girls.” (<-- Dear. God. The whole table went silent after he said that. Jocelyn was SO UNCOMFORTABLE but tried to hide it OMG it was bad. Fennie literally tried to slap some sense into him.)  My Reaction: Uncontrollable staring. Urge to touch is strong, which I must fight because not everyone is cool with that. There may even be slack-jawed drooling involved. I think that’s what would happen. I’ve never seen or experienced anything that I would give Red to.

Mr. Townsend quirks a brow at the other man, and when our boss walks away he sticks his tongue out to his back. I push my hair over my shoulder and look this man over a bit closer. His dark hair reaches his shoulders and falls in soft waves around his face. He has a strong jaw lined with stubble and high cheekbones under his impossibly dark eyes. His perfect teeth are framed beautifully with full lips and a dark goatee, which only highlight the voluptuous color of his mouth. He’s wearing a dark blue button up shirt that fits loosely around his arms and chest, but the fitted dark jeans show off the chiseled lines of his thighs. He pushes his chair back slightly and stands, extending his large hand toward me. “I’m Reid. Reid Townsend.” He’s tall, about 6’0”, with a smile right out of a toothpaste commercial, and when I take his hand (surely with a stupid look on my face) it’s rough from heavy use. “Nice to meet you. I’m Danielle Delaney,” I reply. “You can call me Dani… Or anything you’d like except DD, um, in high school some people called me Double D’s because of that name and because I have big boobs—” I cut off abruptly with a slightly choked sound, feeling the blood rush over my chest, face and ears. I’ve never blurted something like that before in my life, and I especially have never blurted anything because I’m standing in front of a beautiful guy—I’m the player, not the played.

The store he’d chosen was Target. Which could be my second home, so I led him right to kids’ clothes. He stood on the edge of the little girls’ department with his mouth slightly agape. “This is a lot of clothes.” I laughed and looped my arm through his. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.” “How do you choose anything? It just goes on forever.” “What did your sister say? Be specific.” I released his arm and ran my fingers over a cute floral dress. “Size two. No exact matches. Summer clothes. Nothing slutty. Shorts. Dresses. No pants.” I turned and stared at him. “Wait, she said nothing slutty?” He chuckled. “I just threw that in to see if you were really paying attention. You kind of had that glazed-over storegasm look.” My lips parted. “Did you just say ‘storegasm’?” With a sheepish grin he looked down, then glanced back up. “My sister calls it that. I swear it’s not my word. Like when she walks into her favorite store or finds a sale, she says it’s better than…” He looked away. “I think I’m just going to shut up now.” “Huh.” I looked through the rack again. “I kind of like it. Storegasm.” Cade didn’t move as I repeated the word, testing it out for myself. “But don’t worry. I was listening. Trust me, you’d know if I was having a storegasm.” I glanced at him, then walked over to the next rack. When he didn’t follow, I looked over my shoulder at him. “You coming?” One eyebrow shot up. I bit back a smile and turned away. He cleared his throat and followed.

There she is,” he said. I scanned the room for Mason’s current love interest. “Where?” “Pink top, brown ponytail.” “She’s cute. But a little too innocent for your taste.” “Looks can be deceiving.” He grinned. “How did a girl like me end up with a man-whore like you for a best friend?” “I’m the one who should be asking how a guy like me ended up with a prude like you.” “Hey, I’m not a prude. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Who knows?” “I already volunteered my services. Telling you, once you’re devirginized you’re gonna go wild. Might as well get it out of the way.” I hushed him and looked around. “Someone will hear you.” “A guy who likes sex and a girl who’s a virgin. Yeah, that’s something no one’s ever seen before.” He shrugged. “I’m just trying to do you a favor.” I laughed. “Your thoughtfulness amazes me.” “No-strings-attached sex is very generous. You laugh now but one day you’ll come around.” “No thanks. I know where you’ve been.” “Good point.” He glanced back at the girl. “And you know where I’m going.” I rolled my eyes. “Go. It’s fine.” “That’s okay. I’ll find her later. I promised not to abandon you.” “Go. Seriously. I’m fine. I’ll practice blending in with the walls.” “Now I really can’t leave you.” He shifted his weight and stared at me. “It was a joke. Anyway, I see a girl from one of my classes. I’ll go say hi.” I walked away and glanced back. With a shooing motion, I said, “Go.” He shrugged and went to find his brunette. I hadn’t really seen a friend but Mason came to have fun. I didn’t want to be his party paperweight.

By the time he came around to shake hands at the conclusion of his speech, I’d been reduced to a twelve-year-old girl at a One Direction concert. I was shaking and nervous and sweating and seriously crushing. If it had been socially acceptable, I would’ve started screaming at the top of my lungs like the fangirl that I am. I tried to hold on to my politics. But Jacob, you have to remain critical. He still hasn’t issued an executive order banning workplace discrimination against LGBTQ Americans. Statistically, he hasn’t slowed deportations. You still disagree with some of this man’s foreign policy decisions. And you don’t like drone warfare. You must remain critical, my brain said. It is important. NAH FUCK THAT! screamed my heart and girlish libido, gossiping back and forth like stylists at a hair salon. Can you even believe how handsome he is? He is sooooo cute! Oh my God, is he looking at you right now? OH MY GOD JACOB HE’S LOOKING AT YOU! And he was. Before I knew what was happening, it was my turn to shake his hand and say hello. And in my panic, in my giddy schoolgirl glee, all I could muster, all I could manage to say at a gay party at the White House, was: “We’re from Duke, Mr. President! You like Duke Basketball don’t you?” “The Blue Devils are a great team!” he said back, smiling and shaking my hand before moving on. WHAT. Jacob. jacob jacob jacob. JACOB. You had ONE CHANCE to say something to the leader of the free world and all you could talk about was Duke Basketball, something you don’t even really like? I mean, you’ve barely gone to one basketball game, and even then it was only to sing the national anthem with your a cappella group. Why couldn’t you think of something better? How about, “Do you like my shoes, Mr. President?” Or maybe “Tell Michelle I’m her number one fan!” Literally anything would’ve been better than that.

I don’t believe in love that never ends,” said Aiden, his whisper clear and distinct. “I don’t believe in being true until death or finding the other half of your soul.” Harvard raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Privately, he considered that it might be good that Aiden hadn’t delivered this speech to this guy he apparently liked so much—whom Aiden had never even mentioned to his best friend before now. This speech was not romantic. Once again, Harvard had to wonder if what he’d been assuming was Aiden’s romantic prowess had actually been many guys letting Aiden get away with murder because he was awfully cute. But Aiden sounded upset, and that spoke to an instinct in Harvard natural as breath. He put his arm around Aiden, and drew his best friend close against him, warm skin and soft hair and barely there shirt and all, and tried to make a sound that was more soothing than fraught. “I don’t believe in songs or promises. I don’t believe in hearts or flowers or lightning strikes.” Aiden snatched a breath as though it was his last before drowning. “I never believed in anything but you.” “Aiden,” said Harvard, bewildered and on the verge of distress. He felt as if there was something he wasn’t getting here. Even more urgently, he felt he should cut off Aiden. It had been a mistake to ask. This wasn’t meant for Harvard, but for someone else, and worse than anything, there was pain in Aiden’s voice. That must be stopped now. Aiden kissed him, startling and fierce, and said against Harvard’s mouth, “Shut up. Let me… let me.” Harvard nodded involuntarily, because of the way Aiden had asked, unable to deny Aiden even things Harvard should refuse to give. Aiden’s warm breath was running down into the small shivery space between the fabric of Harvard’s shirt and his skin. It was panic-inducing, feeling all the impulses of Harvard’s body and his heart like wires that were not only crossed but also impossibly tangled. Disentangling them felt potentially deadly. Everything inside him was in electric knots. “I’ll let you do anything you want,” Harvard told him, “but don’t—don’t—” Hurt yourself. Seeing Aiden sad was unbearable. Harvard didn’t know what to do to fix it. The kiss had turned the air between them into dry grass or kindling, a space where there might be smoke or fire at any moment. Aiden was focused on toying with the collar of Harvard’s shirt, Aiden’s brows drawn together in concentration. Aiden’s fingertips glancing against his skin burned. “You’re so warm,” Aiden said. “Nothing else ever was. I only knew goodness existed because you were the best. You’re the best of everything to me.” Harvard made a wretched sound, leaning in to press his forehead against Aiden’s. He’d known Aiden was lonely, that the long line of guys wasn’t just to have fun but tied up in the cold, huge manor where Aiden had spent his whole childhood, in Aiden’s father with his flat shark eyes and sharp shark smile, and in the long line of stepmothers who Aiden’s father chose because he had no use for people with hearts. Harvard had always known Aiden’s father wanted to crush the heart out of Aiden. He’d always worried Aiden’s father would succeed. Aiden said, his voice distant even though he was so close, “I always knew all of you was too much to ask for.” Harvard didn’t know what to say, so he obeyed a wild foolish impulse, turned his face the crucial fraction toward Aiden’s, and kissed him. Aiden sank into the kiss with a faint sweet noise, as though he’d finally heard Harvard’s wordless cry of distress and was answering it with belated reassurance: No, I’ll be all right. We’re not lost. The idea of anyone not loving Aiden back was unimaginable, but it had clearly happened. Harvard couldn’t think of how to say it, so he tried to make the kiss say it. I’m so sorry you were in pain. I never guessed. I’m sorry I can’t fix this, but I would if I could. He didn’t love you, but I do.

 “You like me, though. You want to go on a date with me.” It wasn’t a question. “Cocky much?” “Confident. Don’t be mistaken.” “Why do you want to take me out so badly?” “Fishing for more compliments, are we?” He’d caught me, but went on anyway. “Obviously you’re beautiful. You have nice, you know, legs and . . . stuff.” “You’re laughing. I don’t think I’m really your type. I think you’re messing with me. I’m not at all like Charlize Theron.” We pulled up to my car but he let Charlize idle before getting out. “You are so my type. Charlize—at least the actress—is not. I mean, she’s gorgeous, in a blond, Amazonian, I-might-kill-and-eat-my-own-young kind of way, but I like your look better.” “Oh yeah? What’s my look?” “There’s something dark about you . . . and interesting. Your creamy skin, your black hair. The way you move. Your mouth.” He reached out to touch my cheek but I jerked away, breaking the seriousness of the moment. “What do you mean I’m dark?” He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I want to get naked with you and a Ouija board.” I burst out laughing. “And your laugh . . . it’s like the sound of someone squeezing the life out of a miniature trumpet. It’s really cute.” “That is not a compliment. I have a nice laugh. And by the way, your voice is nasally when you’re not trying to impress people.” He held his hand to his chest like he was offended, except he was still smiling. “I’m crushed. Penny, whatever your last name is—” “Piper.” “Ha! Penny Piper? You’ve got to be kidding! That’s either a children’s book character or a porn star’s name. Penny Piper picked a peck of pickled pep—” “Stop! I know, trust me. I have to live with this name. My poor sister’s name is Kiki Piper. Like we’re fucking hobbits or something.” “Penny Piper is worse than Kiki Piper, hands down.” I cocked my head to the side. “Thanks.” “Just sayin’. What’s your middle name?” “Isabelle.” “I’m gonna call you PIP Squeak.” “Thank you. I can’t wait.” “And by the way, I happen to have a deviated septum. That’s why my voice sounds like this sometimes, you asshole. Now get out and help me with your car.” As we stepped out, he pointed to my Honda and said, “Try and start it when I tell you.” I stopped and turned to him. “What’s your middle and last name?” “Gavin Augusta Berninger.” “Regal,” I said with a wink. “I know, right?” He shrugged one arm like he was royalty or something. “Is that French?” “Yeah, my dad’s family is French . . . sort of. Like, his great-great-grandfather came from France. No one in our family even speaks French.” “Hmm, not so regal anymore,” I said. “Whatever, Penny Piper.

I hate most bugs. Bugs fall into two categories as far as I'm concerned: Butterflies—which I want to play with, take pictures of them to post on my FB timeline, and smile if I'm lucky enough that they flutter over and land on my arm. They're so cute I'd kiss their little faces. All other insects—which I declare outright war on, spraying them with the kinds of biological/chemical weapons that we thought the Iraqis had, smashing them with sticks, and crushing their multi-legged bodies beneath my sneakers.

He tips his head to the side and grins. “That’s too bad. It’s lonely on this side of the store,” he says and glances at the register beside us. “It’s lonely over there too,” I say honestly, thinking of the lack of real connection between me and Camilla. Blaine’s eyes light with humor, and I smack a hand over my mouth as I realize I said that out loud. He leans closer to me and whispers, “We’ll both survive somehow.

Have you ever noticed that the things people LOVE says a lot about them? Even random stuff like your favourite band, movie or lip gloss colour can be a reflection of YOU. The same thing can be said for your friends and other important people in your life. What “other important people” you ask? Hmmm . . . like maybe . . . your CRUSH!!! YEP! That super cute guy who gives you a severe case of RCS! So, just for fun, I’ve made a little guide about what YOUR choice in boys says about you. Enjoy!!! IF YOU LIKE EMO GUYS (Think Edward from Twilight) You like to talk about things . . . A LOT! You crush on emo boys because they’re all sensitive and stuff. Just beware; sometimes dark and brooding guys can be kind of a downer! IF YOU LIKE TROUBLE MAKERS (the boy who’s on a first name basis with the principal’s receptionist) You don’t like following the rules and you crush on boys who make their own. Let’s face it: there’s something kind of exciting about them. But a word of caution my rebel loving friends: sometimes the bad boy is BAD BAD news!! IF YOU LIKE PREPPY GUYS (think shirts, polos and a general feel of being ironed from head to toe) You’re totally organized. You probably have colour-coordinated folders for every subject, and maybe, just MAYBE, you aspire to fold sweaters at the Gap. A preppy boy makes you weak in the khaki knees!! IF YOU LIKE MUSICIAN TYPES (OK, so this one is fairly obvious, but in case you’ve just arrived on Earth, I’m talking about future Justin Biebers) You’re totally into music, and you’re probably also super creative. And (let’s be honest) you also like the attention of walking around with band boy. Everyone’s always like, “Nice set for the talent show!” or “Saw you on YouTube!” or “Would you sign my forehead?!?

This arrogant, conceited history strides with her head in the clouds and never looks down. She does not realize how she crushes millions of people beneath her feet. The common people. She doesn't understand that one may cut a mountain in two, but people? It's a hard task, Bhai, to cute one people in two. They bleed.

KISS everything HELLO! Like the walls, the floors, my locker, my textbooks, and my very cute CRUSH, Brandon!

You don’t sound too happy about going tonight. Did Eddie say something again? I thought he got the message that you weren’t really interested in him.” “No.” I untangled the phone cord. “I was just missing being home. And as for Eddie, I don’t know anymore. He is nice.” “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That you like Eddie? The boy who has had a crush on you from the first day of school, and who you’ve basically ignored all this time?” I could hear the excitement in Jennifer’s voice. I started to blush. “He’s just so sweet and funny.” “Uh-huh . . . a-a-a-and?” “And nothing. Eddie and I are just friends. Plus, neither you or I can date until we’re sixteen, remember?” “But would you date him in November?” “I don’t know.” I giggled. “Ooh, this is so good!” she squealed. “Does Eddie suspect that you like him?” “NO! I’m not sure what I feel. Besides, I’d die if he found out, so don’t say anything.” Jennifer laughed. “You know I wouldn’t. But how great it would be if you and I could double-date next year! You with Eddie and me with Nathan. They’re best friends and we’re best friends.” “I thought you said Nathan Dixon was a moron?” “But he’s a very cute moron!

Richie chooses that moment to reappear. “Everything okay?” “He’s fine,” Asher says. “Just seems to be stroking out because I called him cute.” Richie blinks at Asher once, twice, then reaches for me and crushes me to his side. “Get your own boyfriend.” Asher laughs again and holds up his hands. “I’m shit-stirring, man. You can both calm down. I’m not interested in either of you.

She's cute. Blond. Sweet. Innocent. You should see the way her ass looks in jeans. Actually, fuck you. She's mine.

They thought I was troubled after noticing the cut marks I'd made on my arms and legs, a habit I'd picked up to impress cute girls in school. I'd carve a crush's name into my shoulder, or make slashes on my forearm to win their attention. The pain was intense, but it paid off-

I’ve seen too many people spill their guts in group therapy believing that this will make them feel better, only to discover that revealing their deepest, darkest secrets invariably makes things a thousand times worse. Once you know that someone’s uncle molested her while her stepfather recorded it so they could sell the videos on the dark web, or that the cute guy you had a crush on when you were fourteen spent the first seven years of his life believing he was a girl because that’s how his mother dressed and treated him and at sixteen he was still struggling with gender issues, or that your new roommate’s parents tracked every morsel of food that passed her lips and if she gained so much as half a pound, she had to work out for hours in an exercise room that was more like a torture chamber, it’s hard to forget. I remind myself I want to do this. Trevor may have initiated this interview, but I am here by choice.

Any girl faced with daily attention from a gorgeous boy with a cute accent and perfect hair would be hard-pressed not to develop a big, stinking, painful, all-the-time, all-consuming crush.

You're not my girlfriend. You're my person." I knew right away what he meant. I thought he was cute and he though ti was cute but was different than it was when people have crushes. With Leo I'd fallen into another kind of like. I couldn't wait to tell him stuff and I loved hearing him laugh at my jokes and I loved laughing at his jokes. He made me feel like I had a spot in the world. It felt as if Leo and I could like each other all our lives. So I hugged him. He was my person too.

I sighed. “Yeah, so not really. I messed around with some guys, did the deed with a few. The last time was with a really cute cowboy I had a crush on. But it was a colossal failure. He lasted maybe two thrusts. I haven’t had the big O with a person not myself for… well, ever, come to think of it.” I wiggled my fingers. “I know my own way around the old strawberry patch, but I’ve heard it’s not nearly as fun to pluck the berry alone.

Girl friends You on my lock screen. My phone when it calls. The seven-minute voice note, so you know it all. The cute shit. The bad bits. Everything we don’t even need to say. Sorry, again, for the total essay. Your note on my bed. Never being left on read. That whole summer. Our secrets. The evenings that left us sleepless. Having crushes that need stalking. Being together and not talking. Late nights. Hydrolites. The calmness of knowing your advice is always right. My clothes that you wore. Your shoes, unbuckled, still lying on my floor. Screenshots. Our mistakes. Running commentary from our first dates. All my secrets that you know. Every debt that I owe. How many times do I say this before it is too much? I love you with all my skin and bones.

This isn't just some crush on the cute girl next door. I want you, Kes. In a way you can't possibly understand.

“But you know a way to catch him?” Nate said. “I do.” Brad slapped another photo on the table. A smiling teenage girl with blue eyes and blond hair streaked with red. “Cute,” Carter grunted. “Let me guess, this guy has a crush on her.” “More than just a crush. It’s his girlfriend.” They looked surprised. The cute smiling girl definitely did not seem like a romantic match for the scowling brute in the other photos. But Brad had done enough surveillance to be sure of his facts. “She’s another subject, one who escaped with your grandson and his foster brother. She’s a necromancer.” Carter’s face screwed up. “A what?” “Someone who can speak to the dead,” Theo said. “Like the Alpha’s girlfriend. The one on TV.” “She’s hot,” Nate said. “Little young for you,” Carter said, still eying the photo. “I meant the one on TV,” Nate said. “So the kid’s got it bad for this girl?” “He does, and he already has a werewolf’s protective instinct in spades. He’s the same way with his foster brother, which would be the backup plan, but the brother is a sorcerer and knows self-defense. A necromancer has no defensive powers and this one’s a tiny thing. She’s his weakness. That’s how Liam and Ramon got close enough to fight him. They made a tactical mistake, though. They settled for teasing and threatening her, which only pissed the boy off enough to fight. If you want him, you just need to take her. He’ll come running.”

Long before I ever saw him coming into Connie Sue’s salon, a friend of mine in high school was always talking about a guy named Jeptha. She was very sweet. She went to the Pentecostal church and dressed very conservatively--hair down to her booty, skirts, little makeup. We had history class together, and she used to let me put mascara on her. “He’s a dream,” she used to say. I could tell she had a crush on this guy, and I’d just roll my eyes and shake my head. I doubt it, I’d say to myself, after the thousandth time she’d talked about Jeptha and called him dreamy again. I was familiar with the name but not the actual guy, and it wasn’t until the glide-by at Connie Sue’s that I came face-to-face with the dream. Whoops! I mean, with Jeptha. I didn’t think a whole lot more about him until I saw him again a couple of weeks later at a music club called Edge of Madness. There was no drinking, just music, and lots of kids hanging out. The Jeptha came up to me during a break in the music and introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Jeptha Robertson. Are you Jessica?” Connie Sue had told him my name and a little bit about me, but I guess he wanted to make sure. “Hi,” I said, and smiled back. “My dad is the Duck Commander,” he offered. Who? I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea who or what the Duck Commander was. “You don’t know who the Duck Commander is?” I shook my head no. I’m sure I looked as confused as I felt. Obviously, I am missing something, and I should know who the Duck Commander is. “You don’t know who Phil Robertson is?” No, again. We chatted a little, and I could see he was trying to connect with me. Then he pulled out his best line: “Do you like my plaid pants?” I looked at the familiar logo on his shirt and pants and thought to myself, Wow, you must really like Abercrombie and Fitch. Surprised, I looked down and beheld his brown, green, and white plaid pants. You couldn’t miss them. They definitely stood out in the crowd. “Yeah,” I said, my voice trailing off. I wasn’t quite sure what else to say. Now at least I know who the dream is, I thought. And he is pretty cute.

He was crushing. Hard. Veronica was cute and sweet and smart. And the sex was fucking fantastic.

Oh my god! You still have a crush on Nic don’t you? That’s so cute, brother! You’re like Brand from Adventures in Babysitting.” Miles cackles at this reference but my blood runs cold. Aubrey’s pension for eighties movies has just turned me into a pedophile.

You’re a little bit whipped,” Sam says from behind me. I turn around and scowl at him. “I am not.” “Yes, you are. I think it’s cute.” He grins at me as he balances himself in the doorway, dangling from the overhang like a monkey. “You have a crush.” “I do not have a crush,” I say. “Oh, you totally have a crush,” he sings out. I can’t let him tease me like that, so I chase him out of Matt’s old room and down the hallway into the living room. He jumps over the back of the couch, and I go over it after him. I catch him around the waist and knock him to the floor. He’s wiry and quick, and I don’t remember him being quite as strong as he is now, but I pin him to the floor anyway. I must be getting old because it’s harder to hold him down than it used to be. A lot harder. Sam’s a collegiate athlete, and he’s even being scouted by a couple of pro teams, so he’s in peak physical shape all the time. Unlike me. Thankfully, I have size on my side. A knock sounds at the door. I yell, “Come in!” without letting Sam up. He grunts and shoves at me, but I sit on him. The door opens and a man walks in carrying a box. I freeze, because he looks familiar. “Get off me, you big fucker,” Sam says. The man raises his brow at us and looks back at Friday, who is dragging a suitcase. I let Sam up, and he swipes the hair back from his brow. He’s sweating. I’m not. But I also wasn’t the one trying to scramble up from the floor.

Felicity, this is my roommate, Fallon.” She greeted me then tossed a smirk in Mason’s direction. “What’s up, Mason?” “Not much.” He seemed tense, and I wondered what exactly this tiny little girl could say or do to have him that strung out. She really was tiny. Cute too. She looked totally harmless. “So is this lunch or an intervention? Looks like you’ve been on performance enhancers or something.” Fallon poked his shoulder. “But I guess the real question is: Is your performance enhanced?” Ah, there it was. But Mason didn’t even flinch. “So I hear you’re giving monogamy a shot. How’s that working out for you?” My jaw dropped and I stared at Mason, but Fallon only grinned. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Emphasis on the fucking.” What in the world was wrong with these two? Brinley turned to me. “Just ignore them. This is how we know they love each other. The day they stop doing this is the day I start to worry.” Mason turned to me, like suddenly remembering I was there. He offered a sheepish grin then glanced back at Fallon. “You staying for lunch? We can make room.” She shook her head. “I can’t. Cade’s in the car with Scout but I wanted to stop by and meet Felicity.

Jessie was sitting on a green bench in Central Park, enjoying the last of the autumn sun as she watched Luke break-dancing with two of his friends. She had to admit it—the kid had some serious moves. There were several clusters of middle school girls watching and letting out squeals as Luke executed a series of flips ending with splits. “Careful!” Jessie called. “If you break your neck, your parents will break mine!” A cute girl named Connie with long blond hair plopped down next to Jessie.

Radiohead! Thom (we called him “Thom-with-an-H”) was cute, but it was the guitarist Jonny Greenwood we were really hot for. He was skinny and pale, with brown hair hanging in his eyes, long fingers, and terrible posture. We sat onstage and screamed every time he looked at us, which wasn’t too often (I think he was afraid).

I could admit I had a bit of a crush. I mean…. Who the fuck asks for squirrel at a diner? Mutt. That’s who. He was weird, and cute—and he liked to stick his fingers up my butt. So like…that made him kinda perfect? Lying about being a dog, aside.

I DROPPED A QUARTER ON THE TABLE JUST AS SHE PUT THE EIGHT BALL IN THE CORNER POCKET ... Perfect timing. Damn. She wasn’t just cute – she was crazy cute. Those eyes. The biggest, greenest eyes I’d ever stared into. Like the kids in those paintings they sold in the department stores. She had the delicate, finely cut features of every Irish girl I’d ever had a crush on in grammar school. She was blonde, though not really trying; hair cut casually just above her shoulders in way that seemed to say 'who really gives a fuck?' Perfect. And one more thing: that ass. I was definitely an ass man and hers should’ve been mounted on a wall in the Louvre. Not exactly heart-shaped, it filled those jeans in a way that would allow you to read the date on a nickle wedged inside her back pocket.

Madilyn is just Madilyn… She is one girl that I secretly look up to. Yeah, it’s safe to say she is my girl crush, yet nobody needs to know. Like underneath all the ratty clothing, and regardless of what everyone says about her, she is one hot, sensual, and totally cute girl, in my mind. She is so much to hang with, we have so much that we like about one another the list could go on forever. Even though I have girlfriends that are so- popular we are not always together, really all they want to do is party and hook up and that gets old fast with me. Madilyn is just different… Every time we are done doing it, (I say- I love you my awesome nard- Madi-lyn) (Shush!) I look at her like- Do you see me here with my one finger up to my lips, hitting the tip of my nose? You’re my dirty little secret. You and I, we have to keep this undercover. I was thinking as she winks at me with those big bright eyes, and then she walks in the door. Jenny- ‘Looks at me saying- ‘What that freak was that all about.’ I said- ‘I think she was just picking a wedgie.’ The girls were like- ‘Oh? Oo-okay?’ Jenny said- ‘Oh that’s good, a butt picker scratch and sniffer!’ I just roll my eyes, like- you- poor girl, you can’t win no matter how hard you try.

I first met Tracey Gold when we played brother and sister in a McDonald’s commercial. We met again in the made-for-television movie Beyond Witch Mountain. Later she played a cheerleader while I played a football star in the Robin Williams/Kurt Russell film The Best of Times. She was cute, she was good and she was always working on something. I had a bit of a crush on her at the time—which probably sounds a bit creepy to the rest of the world who think of us as siblings.

I liked cute things. I liked to crush them and break them and see what would become of all the jagged little pieces. Perhaps my definition of “cute” was just a little different. Juniper Kynes, for example. Adorable. Murderous. Vicious. And bound to be mine.

The knight was someone named Alison, but I don’t really know her,” said Dante. “You don’t know her, yet you remembered her name?” asked Harper. “What, you got a crush on her or something?” “What?! No!” “Is she cute?” “N-no, I mean, well, y-yeah. She’s cute, but it’s nothing like that!” Harper started giggling. “Oooh… Dante has a girlfriend!” “No, I don’t! Shhh!” “Hey, don’t shhh me!” Harper said, and then she yelled, “Oh, are you afraid your girlfriend Alison might hear us?” “Omg…” Dante, completely embarrassed, walked off quickly by himself.