Kissing Booth Quotes

If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

Wow. Death by books. That would have been some way to go.

So that’s our approach. Very simple, and we’re really shooting for Museum of Modern Art quality. The way we’re running the company, the product design, the advertising, it all comes down to this: Let’s make it simple. Really simple.” Apple’s design mantra would remain the one featured on its first brochure: “Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.

Well, if they set you in the kissing booth, let me know, I am always willing to donate for a worthy cause.

Screw the right thing to do. What do you want to do?

He shrugged, "I dont know.. I just, well I mean.. Taking you to dance and stuff like that was me trying to say sorry. But sometimes, saying sorry doesn't mean a lot. And you deserve a hell a lot of better than that; than me. And man, I hate all this emotional shit but Im gonna say it all anyway because you deserve that much.

Kissing Cole Parker was like winning the make-out lottery.

Kissing booth? - Stella Keeping tabs on me? - Chet Hard not to. when they wrote your name on the roster, girls within a ten mile radius swooned and fainted flat on their backs. -Stella But not you? - Chet I don't kiss friends - Stella

I automatically leaned back, my head fitting into that spot between his neck and his shoulder. Again, the cliched romantic in me wondered how we seemed to fit so perfectly, two pieces of a jigsaw, and have such different, clashing personalities... I didn't care how bad we were for each other or that he'd be off to college soon; I just remembered that I was in love with him.

But sometimes saying sorry doesn't really mean a lot. And you deserve a of a lot better than that

See, I can play nicely. I didn’t spring over the booth to strangle him when he hugged you, I didn’t shatter his jaw when he kissed your cheek and I didn’t break his fingers when he held your hand. You must appreciate how hard that was for me Layla.

The grassy park was lined with dozens of kissing booths. Twinkle lights draped back-and-forth between tall trees, making a canopy of stars above the red and pink tables below. People were lined up at each booth, applying lipstick and perfume as they readied for their purchased kisses. Behind the booths stood a large white gazebo housing a group of musicians. As a love song filled the air, couples intertwined their bodies and swayed to the melody. Here and there, children ran about wearing red hats and eating lip-shaped chocolates, while women waited impatiently for quickie makeovers under a flashy pink tent. The park was littered with couples kissing behind trees and making out on park benches. And paper stars were everywhere; in trees, on the ground, above heads, inside mouths…. It was like Valentine’s Day. On crack.

Kissing Noah was like a Rubik's cube. An impossible puzzle, but one I didn't want to give up on just yet because it was too compelling, too enticing...

Some people say you’ll fall in love, and that’s the person you’ll spend forever with; the person who’ll know your deepest and darkest secrets and still love you even then, the person who’ll know exactly the right thing to say to make you laugh or smile or feel better. They’ll be the person who, no matter what, you can’t live without

They say if you love something, you set it free. Well, there was no chance in hell I would’ve let my best friend free without putting up a fight.

It was a perfect moment in time- but that's all it was- a moment.

Relationships aren't like the fairy tales, Elle. It takes work.

Can’t imagine playing pranks without you in your wheelchair beside me trying to whiz away

But I was never good enough for you. I was never the right guy, and I was terrified the whole time that we were together that the right guy would come along, and I felt like I was just waiting for you to realise that, and to see that the right guy for you isn't me. And... And I loved you too much to let you go.

A bum woke up in the gutter right beside where I stood looking across the street at this place. He felt in the waist of his pants and came up with a pint bottle, half full. He tipped it up and it gurgled steadily until he'd emptied it all down into him. I was only twenty-four or -five but I already knew from experience how it tasted. And people who've kissed the feet of Christ know how it tasted. I saw everything there in the gutter -- the terror and the promise. Later I spent the morning in the smoky Day Labor Division with better than a hundred men who'd learned how not to move, learned how to stay beautifully still and let their lives hurt them, white men with gray faces and black men with yellow eyes. I worked the rest of the week in a factory without ever comprehending exactly what was manufactured there, and at night I'd get drunk and shut myself in a phone booth and call the woman in Minnesota who'd broken my heart.

Carlos, your mysophobia does affect my health. I feel freer – more alive, more vivacious and, ironically enough, healthier – if I’m not constantly made to worry about germs and unhealthy choices. Whether it’s for a moment of spontaneous kissing in a phone booth or eating an occasional hamburger…Obsessing about your health doesn’t actually make you healthier. The fact of the matter is, Carlos, our bodies are decaying at every moment, regardless of what we do. Living is bad for your health.” “It doesn’t have to be.” “Maybe if you live in an antiseptic bubble specially designed by the CDC it doesn’t. But in a place like New York City, you’re fighting a pointless battle. You can either embrace the dirt and the germs as part of the risky joy of living in an exciting, overpopulated metropolis, or you can spend lots of mental real estate obsessing over whether you touched a few extra microbes when you got on the subway.

Right now,tucked into the booth,Gray Donohue whispered into the ear of the redhead on his right,while his hand slipped under the table and under the skirt of the female to his left.As he whispered,the redhead lifted her heavy lids,turned her gaze to whereever Gray´s hand had landed,and grinned.Marina whirled back to the bar and drained her beerto the very last bit of foam.He was the best assignment she´d ever had.Or he would be,if she could just get him to notice her.

You know what I did last night? I watched every love confession scene I could find, and every single one of them reminded me of you. All of them. Notting Hill. Crazy Rich Asians. Ten Things I Hate About You—Ben, I cried watching the end of the Kissing Booth sequel, because for me, it’s always you. You’re the point of every story.

Some people say you’ll fall in love, and that’s the person you’ll spend forever with; the person who’ll know your deepest and darkest secrets and still love you even then, the person who’ll know exactly the right thing to say to make you laugh or smile or feel better. They’ll be the person who, no matter what, you can’t live without.

When there's just one pin left standing, you start to see things a little more clearly.

People pass through our life some of them fade into memories but some become a part of who you are..

You cant really hold on to someone because the tighter you hold onto them the more they wanna slip away.

I – I’m not going to just be another girl you sleep with and don’t call back in the morning,’ I

But sometimes saying sorry doesn't really mean a lot. And you deserve a **** of a lot better than that

The rest of the ride passed mostly in silence. Except it wasn't an akward kind of silence, one where I wondered if I should make conversation. It was the nice kind of silence. The one where you just enjoy the company.

Some people say you’ll fall in love, and that’s the person you’ll spend forever with; the person who’ll know your deepest and darkest secrets and still love you even then, the person who’ll know exactly the right thing to say to make you laugh or smile or feel better. They’ll be the person who, no matter what, you can’t live without. I couldn’t have cared less about whoever I fell in love with, to be honest. I just cared about losing Lee.

We walk inside, and I stop short. Our booth, the one we always sit in, has pale pink balloons tied around it. There’s a round cake in the center of the table, tons of candles, pink frosting with sprinkles and Happy Birthday, Lara Jean scrawled in white frosting. Suddenly I see people’s heads pop up from under the booths and from behind menus--all of our friends, still in their prom finery: Lucas, Gabe, Gabe’s date Keisha, Darrell, Pammy, Chris. “Surprise!” everyone screams. I spin around. “Oh my God, Peter!” He’s still grinning. He looks at his watch. “It’s midnight. Happy birthday, Lara Jean.” I leap up and hug him. “This is just exactly what I wanted to do on my prom night birthday and I didn’t even know it.” Then I let go of him and run over to the booth. Everyone gets out and hugs me. “I didn’t even know people knew it was my birthday tomorrow! I mean today!” I say. “Of course we knew it was your birthday,” Lucas says. Darrell says, “My boy’s been planning this for weeks.” “It was so endearing,” Pammy says. “We called me to ask what kind of pan he should use for the cake.” Chris says, “He called me, too. I was like, how the hell should I know?” “And you!” I hit Chris on the arm. “I thought you were leaving to go clubbing!” “I still might after I steal some fries. My night’s just getting started, babe.” She pulls me in for a hug and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, girl.” I turn to Peter and say, “I can’t believe you did this.” “I baked that cake myself,” he brags. “Box, but still.” He takes off his jacket and pulls a lighter out of his jacket pocket and starts lighting the candles. Gabe pulls out a lit candle and helps him. Then Peter hops his butt on the table and sits down, his legs hanging off the edge. “Come on.” I look around. “Um…” That’s when I hear the opening notes of “If You Were Here” by the Thompson Twins. My hands fly to my cheeks. I can’t believe it. Peter’s recreating the end scene from Sixteen Candles, when Molly Ringwald and Jake Ryan sit on a table with a birthday cake in between them. When we watched the movie a few months ago, I said it was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen. And now he’s doing it for me.

What the fuck was that about?” Vaughn said, standing over me. “I pissed him off.” Dark blue eyes flicking to the restroom, Vaughn reached back and scratched at his shoulder. “All I know is when Judd came back from Texas, he was all hollowed out. Like a ghost, I guess. This morning before his bitch fit, he looked alive again. Whatever you said or did, can’t be that big a deal compared to the shit mood he’s been in lately.” Glancing at the restroom, I wanted to go back to before I said the words. My honesty ruined our happy morning. “You can’t take it personally,” Vaughn added when I just stared at the restroom. “You know how moody Judd is. Always crying and bitching about something. A freaking drama queen.” Grinning, I looked up at him. “Thank you.” “Men like us aren’t used to pretty girls looking at them like you look at Judd. He’s not sure what to do with you and you’re just gonna have to be patient while he figures shit out.” “Okay,” I said, studied him. Whereas Judd hid a deep sorrow and iced heart behind his walls, I sensed Vaughn concealed a barely contained rage. He smiled easily enough, but it was a ruse. Just like Judd who acted like the world didn’t touch him, Vaughn faked his exterior to avoid showing anything to the world. “Why do they call you Outlaw?” I asked. Vaughn sighed. “Because it’s better than calling me dead man walking.” “I don’t understand.” “You don’t need to, darlin. The drama queen returns.” When Judd appeared next to me, his expression was unreadable while kissing me softly. When he pulled away, his gaze flickered to Vaughn. “Thanks.” “You are so premenstrual sometimes.” Grinning, Judd sat down across from me then glanced at Vaughn. “Fuck off.” Vaughn leaned his hip against the side of the booth and sized me up. “What is it about the Smith sisters that makes otherwise strong men lose their balls?” “I have no idea and I’m out of sisters, so I guess you’re out of luck.” “Thank the Lord too. I like my balls attached.

The lead singer put his sombrero on Zara's head and pulled her close, his hips moving in a way Jay didn't want to see another man's hips move when he was so close to the woman Jay had fantasized about kissing only moments ago. As if he could hear Jay's internal dialogue, the singer caught his gaze. His lips spread in a smug smile and he slid his hand down Zara's back to the curve of her ass. Zara slapped his hand away but not before Jay felt a fierce and totally inexplicable wave of possessiveness wash over him. Not my fight. But he was already out of the booth and across the floor. It was the disrespect the singer was showing toward her, he told himself, the danger he represented, and the gauntlet he'd thrown at Jay's feet. Nothing more. "You came!" Zara flung herself into his arms before he could even open his mouth to give the singer a piece of his mind. Jay gave a satisfied growl and wrapped his arms around her, acutely aware of her soft sexy body pressed up against him, her warmth seeping into his skin like a drug. Something loosened inside him and he bit back a sigh. "Jay." She breathed his name and their eyes met, locked. The world fell away, the music fading beneath the pudding of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. Raw need spiraled inside him, and in that moment he knew two things: he was going to kiss her, and it was going to happen now. He lowered his head, closing the distance between them, his thoughts centered on naked bodies, cool sheets, panted breaths, and the thudding of his headboard against the wall.

Any prize off this bottom row,” the guy tells us, walking away to a waiting customer. “You did it!” I jump down off the counter and wrap my arms around his neck. “You won me a prize!” “Thank fuck.” His arms wrap around me. “I was starting to worry for a moment there. Felt like I was losing my man card.” I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss his lips. “Never. And thank you.” I tip my head back to look into his face. His hands slide down my back to my ass, and he gives it a squeeze. “Go pick your prize, Boston.” Leaving Liam, I head back to the counter and lean over, looking at the bottom row of prizes. I see all kinds of crap here, including really cheap-looking stuffed animals and dolls. I definitely do not want a doll. They freak me out. Then, I spy this sad-looking odd toy. Reaching over, I grab it. Liam comes up behind me as I right myself. His chest is pressed to my back. “Is that a…fucking knitted jellyfish?” I turn my head to look up at him. He’s squinting at the toy I’ve picked up. I look back down at it in my hands, and I think he’s right. It is a knitted jellyfish toy. “I think so.” It’s white and pink and looks like a little princess jellyfish. And the more I look at it, the cuter it becomes…in a weird knitted jellyfish way. “She looks like a jellyfish princess,” I say. “It looks like a piece of shit.” “Hey! You’ll hurt her feelings.” I jab him in the arm. Then, I hug her. “I shall call her Squishy, and she shall be mine.” I laugh, meeting Liam’s blank expression. “Finding Nemo? No?” I say. Liam slowly shakes his head, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Okay, makes sense. You were probably too old to watch it when it first came out—you know, when I was still in diapers and you were out serenading teenage girls with the Backstreet Boys—hey!” I squeal when he digs me in the ribs with his fingers. “We’ll watch Nemo later, and then you’ll get the reference.” I turn to the guy. “I’ll take Squishy,” I tell him, holding the stuffed animal up. “Okay, what’s next?” I hook my arm through Liam’s, holding Squishy to my chest. “Hook a Duck.” “Hook a what?” I give him a confused look. “Duck.” “And what’s Hook a Duck?” “You don’t know what Hook a Duck is?” Liam looks appalled. “No…but I feel like I should.” “You should.” “What’s so special about it?” “Well, nothing special per se, but it’s like a rite of passage. Every kid plays Hook a Duck when they come to the fair.” “Hate to break it to you, Hunter, but we’re not kids.” “Maybe not. But it’s your first time at a fair in England, and you have to play.” Liam grabs my hand and sets off, I assume, in search of this Hook a Duck game. We find one a few minutes later, and it’s closed. All shut up with the tarpaulin covering the booth. “It’s closed. Never mind,” I say to him. I start to walk away, but Liam tugs me back by the hand he’s holding. “Like a little thing like it being closed is going to stop us from playing.” He gives me a grin and drops my hand. I watch as he unhooks the tarpaulin at the bottom and lifts it just enough so that he can sneak in underneath it. “Hunter, what are you doing?” I hiss. He ducks his head back out. “Come on,” he whispers, holding the material up for me to go under. “I’m not going in there.” “Yes you are. Now hurry the fuck up, or you’ll get me arrested for breaking into a Hook a Duck tent,” he whispers. “Ugh,” I complain.

I kiss him back and try to shrink my anger, to swallow it down with all the mucus and the bile. But whenever I try to do that, whenever I try to make my anger disappear, it just gets harder and more compact, like sedimentary rock, and then I’m left with this hard compact in my chest. I give up on asking what he saw at the doctors’. My heart becomes a little stone.

But tell me, does she kiss like I used to kiss you?’ It’s the sound of the Shangri-Las grown up, two kids upstairs asleep, a bottle of red wine open on the kitchen table. Sung by Agnetha, alone at the microphone, to her ex-husband in the control booth, ‘The Winner Takes It All’ was pure musical theatre, but frightening because it was clearly real – anyone listening knew they were intruding on the private grief of an ex-couple

Bridget Jones can kiss my spotty arse.

Goldie had set up the lunch meeting for Blake with the producer after helping him pitch the script. Gun Kiss would tell the story of an ex-Marine who recovers the stolen Deringer belonging to John Wilkes Booth, but learns the deeper meaning behind the shooting on April 14, 1865.

You can't really hold on to someone because the tighter you hold onto them the more they wanna slip away.

We split a muffin and I noticed that Noah gave me the bigger half.

In a booth, Bailey sat next to Vaughn while frowning at her drink. “I need a man!” she declared when she saw me. Vaughn glanced at her and sighed. “I’ll do you, but no names.” Bailey didn’t get it, but I laughed while Cooper acted irritated. Aaron kissed the top of my head then walked over to get us drinks. “Why can’t I trap a man into a relationship like you bitches?” she asked with complete seriousness. “Your subtly turns men off,” Vaughn answered when I just smiled. “Bailey, maybe you could try being more obvious in your need to trap a man. Like wear a shirt with lots of exclamation marks.” “Shut up, fuckhead. You don’t have anyone either.” “I have plenty of anyones.” “Whores aren’t attractive.” Vaughn grinned. “You make it too easy sometimes, B.” Cooper frowned. “Don’t even think of saying what you’re thinking.” “What we’re all thinking.” Bailey frowned at me. “What the fuck are they talking about?” “It’s one of those things that only makes sense when you have ball toxins.” Bailey smiled and nodded. “That happens a lot around me. Want to dance?” “Not really.” “Because you might puke?” “Why would she puke?” Vaughn asked, shoving a pretzel in Bailey’s mouth. Cooper rolled his eyes. “Aaron can’t use a condom properly.” Returning just in time for his friend’s comment, Aaron sighed dramatically. “I just have powerful sperm.” “I was on the pill too,” I said, sticking my tongue at Cooper who grinned. “His mighty sperm didn’t care though.” “You idiots don’t get how the pill works,” Vaughn said before realizing he sounded like a chick about to discuss her period. “Well, congrats, Aaron. You are now officially whipped like a bitch. How does it feel?” Aaron answered by kissing me like we might fuck right there.

Carl left grumbling and Chase pushed the next guy out of the way. Loud curses and protests unused from the men in line. He handed Katie a stack of bills. "I'd like to buy three hundred dollars' worth of kisses." Katie's mouth dropped open as Chase came around to the inside of the kissing booth and yelled, "Sorry, boys, these lips are reserved!" The men grumbled as Katie finally got her bearings. "Are you crazy? Everybody's going to be talking about this." He kissed her and she grabbed his arms to hold on. When he pulled back, he was grinning. "Only 299 more to go."" -Chase & Katie

Hi Nikki, It’s Brandon. Before you ball up this note and toss it away, please read it to the end. I’m still not sure what happened exactly, but I’ve been really bummed since we quit hanging out. Biology isn’t the same without us goofing off during class and you laughing at my lame jokes. I miss washing dogs at Fuzzy Friends with you, even though we end up getting more dog shampoo on ourselves than on them. And the dogs miss you too! Was it because of that . . . um, well, what we did at the kissing booth, at the end of the party? And the rumor that came out afterward? I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. I definitely wish I hadn’t done anything to mess up our friendship. You said something about how you don’t even know me. So what if we meet at the CupCakery after school today and grab some red velvet cupcakes——my treat! I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me (and not worry that you’ll think I’m weird). I’ve learned that honesty and trust are vital in a true friendship. If you decide NOT to hang out today, I totally understand. I guess that will mean I don’t really deserve your friendship. But it would make me happy if you would please give me another chance. Your Fuzzy Friend, Brandon

Wait,” Lacey calls. I turn back, filled with hope. Does she want me to stay? We could kick everyone out and go back to what we were doing. I could kiss the girl that I want more than anything or anyone. I could make her mine. I could pour my heart out to her. I could tell her that I love her and always will. “What?” I ask quietly. “Are you coming to my booth?” she asks. “For the results of the contest?” And watch another man kiss her? I don’t think so. “I have a lot of laundry to do,” I say. She inhales quickly and blinks even faster. “Are you going to meet us for dinner after?” she asks, her voice quivering. “Where are you going?” If I go, I’ll have to see her with her lipstick sucked off her face, and I really don’t want to. She picks up a sticky pad and writes something down. I take it from her hand, which is shaking ever so slightly. “Are you all right?” She nods, looking everywhere but at me. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she says. I shove the note into my pocket, not even bothering to look at it. I

What the fuck do you want?” he asks. “And whose phone are you calling from?” He’s signing while he talks out loud. Logan laughs and pulls me into the frame. “It’s Sean’s.” “What up, Sean?” Paul asks. I wave. “You got any cash?” Logan asks. Paul’s eyes narrow. “Why?” “Sean needs to buy a kiss from his girl.” Paul’s brow rises. “You paying for sex now, dude?” he asks. He holds up his hands when I start to protest. “Not that I think that’s a bad idea or anything. Man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” I laugh. I can’t help it. “I can’t ask you for money, man. Don’t worry about it. Logan shouldn’t have called you.” But Logan rushes on. “So, you got any money?” he asks. Paul heaves a sigh and empties his pockets. I see a few dollars float around. He yells toward the back of his apartment. “Sam! Matt!” Both brothers walk into the room. “You bellowed?” Matt says. “Asswipe there needs some cash so he can buy a hooker.” He points toward me. “She’s not a hooker,” I protest. But Logan’s laughing like hell by now. And Matt and Sam look amused, too. “Cash?” Logan asks. “Some,” Paul says. “Can you bring it?” “Where?” “To school. To the kissing booth. In the quad.” Paul heaves a sigh. “I’ll be there.” The phone goes dead. “Do you think we’ll have enough?” I’m getting anxious now. “You’ll have more than you thought you did.” Logan claps a hand onto my shoulder and squeezes. God,

What about you?” he asks. His gaze is intense. My heart is so light that I can barely follow what we were talking about. “What about me?” I ask. “You asked me if I was faithful to you,” he reminds me. “I wasn’t really asking. I was just telling you that I could understand it if you weren’t. You didn’t even know if I was coming back.” “I knew. But I would have done the same thing even if I hadn’t known.” His eyes narrow. “Are you avoiding my question?” “What question?” “Dammit, Emily.” He slaps his hand on the table again. “Did you or did you not fuck someone else?” People in the nearby booths look in our direction, and I place a finger over my lips. “Turn your voice down,” I say. He says it more quietly. “Did you?” I lay a hand on my chest. “Oh, God, no,” I breathe. How could he even think that? “I’ve seen your picture in the tabloids with the old boyfriend. A lot.” His gaze is intense again. “My father’s publicity people set that up. They want the world to think we’re still happily engaged.” I wasn’t even aware it was happening when I attended the first event and Trip approached me. The photogs went mad taking shots of us. “I’m sorry you had to see that and wonder about it.” “You’re not engaged to him, are you?” Worry furrows his brow, and I feel bad for all I’ve put him through. “No. Not since before I left California the first time.” “And he’s well aware of this?” Logan asks. “Very well aware.” He knows. I’m not sure he cares, but he knows. “He knows I’m in love with you.” Logan smiles innocently. “He knows about me?” “He knows all about you.” I take his hand. “I love you, Logan.” “Good. Because I plan to put a ring on this as soon as you’ll let me.” He draws my ring finger to his lips and kisses it gently. My heart thuds. “A ring?” He nods. “A ring.” “Can you tattoo one on me?” I ask impulsively. “Because I don’t plan to ever take it off.” He smiles. “I’ll think about it.

But after all, there was no alternative. I just had to make the best of it, and lie here like a lox until I was discovered—which seemed to me to be a long-overdue event. I had been sprawled here in direct sunlight for at least half an hour: Can a corpse get a sunburn? I was certain dead people avoided tanning booths—even in zombie movies—but here in the midday sun, was it possible for dead skin to tan? It didn’t seem right; we all like to think of cadavers as pale and ghostly, and a healthy sun-kissed epidermis would certainly spoil the effect. But now I hear a rising chorus of fuss and bother nearby: A metallic door thumps shut, hushed voices murmur urgently, and finally I hear the sound for which I have been yearning: the hurried clatter of approaching footsteps. They stutter to a stop beside me and a woman gasps and cries out, “Nooo!” At last: some real concern for my tragic condition. A trifle melodramatic, perhaps, but it’s touching, and would even be heartwarming, if only Dexter had a heart to warm. The woman bends over me, and in the bright halo of sunlight surrounding her head, I can’t make out her features. But there is no mistaking the shape of the gun that appears in her right hand. A woman with a gun—could this be Dexter’s dear sister, Sergeant Deborah Morgan, stumbling across her beloved brother’s tragically murdered self? Who else could possibly put on such a rare display of well-armed grief for me? And there is real tenderness in her left hand as it drops to my neck to feel for a pulse: in vain, alas, or whatever it is we say instead of “vain” nowadays. Her left hand drops away from my neck and she raises her head to the heavens and says through a tightly clenched jaw, “I’ll get the bastards who did this. I swear it.…” It is a sentiment I approve completely—and actually, it does sound a little bit like Deborah, but not quite enough. There is a hesitant, musical fluctuation in the voice that my sister would never permit. No,

we are born into this world on the tailcoats of a scream. born into gritted teeth and a shock of red across the pristine. born into a solemn hush. are you evil? you, who tore into this world on a steed of crimson… are you a monster? we are born as angels, toothless, a mouth a gurgling brook. and as we grow, so do our wings, until we are high enough to see that our church is no more than a small forest and the altar a tree. are you a monster, angel with fangs? all teeth, thick with teeth, you can’t even close your mouth anymore. it rains and it’s like drowning. corn husk skin and we’re born again. into a time of being tied down, to a person, to a bed. a time of clipped wings. of holy cries out to a void. your wildness a convenience store in the desert, pale pink, dusty, arid. your wildness staring longingly at the screaming horizon and flicking another cigarette butt into the dirt, a lone oscillating fan its only company. we’re born into this concrete world, where sanctuary is to be alone or to pretend to like it. this world of broken bottles instead of leaf crunch. roadside motels proclaiming vacancies. inside and out. that pluck your heartstrings. a new church, a fresh sin. the altar now a white railing against a muted matte pink wall. you lean against it, hips jutted to the side. some of the eighties still lingers. you see a man in a leather jacket kissing a girl’s neck purple. he looks up. teeth are everywhere. hundreds of glistening teeth. you turn away. your wings shush against an old telephone booth, door forced closed. you’re calling your mother to say you’re sorry for hurting her, but when she answers you hang up.

John Wilkes Booth. He visited me while I was in jail,” Blake said. “He told me some crazy stuff. It was my subconscious talking to me, of course. It was weird. He made no sense whatsoever.

The girl in the kissing booth stole the heart of the sad clown, That was the reason he always wore a frown

Ward: $5 for kissing booth Another alert dings in.

Ward: $5 for kissing booth Another alert dings in. Ward: $5 to text me when you get done

The majority of the Phone Booth clientele was probably straight, yet somehow the atmosphere was predominantly gay. This was an advantageous situation; the straight boys respectfully gave the impression they might capitulate. Ostensibly straight boys whom I kissed there included a construction site foreman, a professional skateboarder and an acrobat. Somebody would always put ‘Family Affair’ by Mary J. Blige on the jukebox, with its message about leaving one’s situations behind at the door.

Sweet Jesus in a one-dollar kissing booth

It felt like we were on fire. Everything got so hot, it was almost too much to stand. Kissing him, having his body close. I thought of how you feel when you're eating a meal and don't realize how hungry you are till you're three bites in. You start eating faster, savoring every bite. Now I couldn't stop, so I took another kiss, then another. I let his tongue slip into my mouth, and I shivered again. He smiled at my reaction and went in for more. The way his hands started to move over my body gave me the impression he had been there before. I could have stopped, I knew I should have stopped, but all the drama and emotional pain I'd experienced over the last few days made me recklessly ignore that thought. I tore his shirt off. He gasped, which made me giggle. I covered my mouth, and he grabbed my hand and put it around his neck. He scooped me up and I tightened my thighs around his waist. He sat me down on the bar and peeled off my blouse. Any last ounce of Southern lady I had left in me exited the building. I unhooked my bra and threw it across the room. Screw it. If I was going to go ahead and make a mistake, I might as well take the fast lane. We watched it slingshot and land on a booth. "Is the door locked?" he asked, gasping for air. "Think so," I said, taking big gulping breaths. I was drowning and was totally fine with it. "Good," he said. He pulled me to the end of the bar and pulled my shoes off. I hopped off and helped him along by unbuttoning my jeans and wiggling out of them as sexily as I could. He did the same. "Man, you look good enough to eat," he said. "So do you. Take a bite," I said. We were standing about four feet apart and our clothes were all over the floor. I stood there almost naked and drank in the sight of him. He took a few slow steps toward me, like a lion about to jump on his prey, and dug in.

You know that feeling when you kiss your dog's butthole goodnight but it tastes like your uncle's balls? This means that your dog is family. Feed it to your deformed baby with a side of apple sauce and Chromebook salad.

My mother, who somehow managed to stay politically active while raising four children, roped me into canvassing door-to-door for Tom Bradley, Sam Yorty’s opponent for mayor, in our precinct in Woodland Hills. Bradley would be, if he won, the first black mayor of L.A., so it felt like a historic election. Bradley polled well in our precinct, and we were optimistic. Then Yorty won the election, and the precinct breakdowns showed that our neighbors had evidently been lying when they told us canvassers that they would vote for Bradley. It was a well-known phenomenon, apparently, among white voters, these voting-booth reversals. Still, I was outraged, and my cynicism about organized politics and the broad mass of what I was learning to call the bourgeoisie deepened. Robert Kennedy was assassinated, as everyone knows, on the night of the 1968 California primary. I watched the news on a small black-and-white TV, sitting cross-legged on the foot of my girlfriend’s bed. Her name was Charlene. We were fifteen. She was asleep, believing I had left after our evening’s usual heated, inconclusive cuddle. I had stopped, however, to watch the TV after I saw that Kennedy had been shot. It was after midnight and Charlene’s parents were out watching the voting results with friends. They were Republican Party activists. I heard them pull in the driveway and come in the house. I knew that Charlene’s father, who was an older man, always came in to kiss her good night, and I knew, well, the way out her window and how to catfoot it down to the street. Still, I sat there, unthinking yet cruelly resolved, until the bedroom door opened. Her father did not have a heart attack at the sight of me, calmly watching TV in my underwear, though he could have. I snatched up my clothes and dived out the window before he said a word. Charlene’s mother called my mother, and my mother gave me a serious talk about different types of girls, emphasizing the sanctity of “good girls,” such as Charlene, who belonged to some debutante club. I was embarrassed but unrepentant. Charlene and I had never had much to talk about.

Donato, Donato,” Hannah calls, waving. He comes over to us, kisses his mother and her friend on their cheeks. They laugh and smile, slapping him playfully when he flatters them in Italian. I can tell Hannah is waiting for her turn. She blushes when he spins her. “Bellissima.” He whistles. When he looks at me it’s with the same calculated charm. Only he’s quick about it, he does not mention the silk crepe dress I’m wearing, the one from the shop on Via Condotti. He does offer me a cigarette. “Cilla doesn’t smoke,” Hannah reminds him. He smirks. “Ah, sì. I forget. Ready to go in?” He gives us wristbands that will get us free drinks, and then ushers us from the line, past the bouncers and into the club. It is an instant assault of grinding bodies, of a thick, not unpleasant heat. Flashing lights—blue, white, pink, purple. I can’t make anything out. And then Hannah and her girlfriends are gone. Donato too. I look around, but I’ve been left with Marie and her friend. “Donato reserved us a booth,” Marie shouts to me, and signals that I should follow her. I push my way through the crowd. Everywhere are women, most not older than thirty, all of them red-lipped and kohl-eyed, with delicate sloping noses, bare shoulders and legs. They are dancing almost on top of one another, their teeth bright white and perfect. A bartender comes by with shots for anyone who will kiss him. Marie’s friend leaves a fat lip print on either cheek. Bacio, bacio, she mouths to me. I shake my head. No, thank you. A waitress takes us past a velvet rope, to a big round booth where a bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice. Marie and her friend are beaming. Marie leans over to me. “Is this like Los Angeles clubs?

It's just like Goldilocks, but with waves of long, dark-chocolate hair. Hell, I don't even want to blink in case she disappears. I didn’t pay too much attention to my fairy tales. Did any of those bears get to the kiss the girl?

Josh snorted. Then he nudged me, nodding to a girl in a skirt way too short for her, teetering in heels on her way back from the bathroom. I laughed. “Look at the guy she’s with. He’s resource guarding. Growling over her like a dog with a bone. He’s eyeing every man that comes within ten feet of her.” Josh chuckled. “Want me to test your theory? Pretend like I’m gonna try and talk to her?” His eyes twinkled. “Oh my God, yes. Please.” He set his beer down and slid from the booth, and I watched, grinning, as he made his way over to the bar, shooting me a wolfish look over his shoulder. When he got close, Dog Bone Guy puffed his chest and wrapped an arm across his girl’s boobs. Josh veered left, laughing. I put a hand over my smile. His boyish charm always got me. He was adorable. He made his way back to our table and scooted in next to me, putting an arm around me. “You were right.” “That was fucking hilarious.” I giggled, leaning into him. His eyes gleamed and he drew his lower lip between his teeth, looking down at my smiling mouth. And like it was no big deal, like there weren’t any rules, as if we were a couple just out on a date, having a good time, he leaned in and kissed me. And I let him.

He dragged his hands down his face and balled his fists over his eyes. He stood there, his breath coming out in gasps, and I wanted to run to him and dive into his arms. But I didn’t budge. “We’re in love,” he said, blinking at me through tears. “We are. Why are you doing this?” My bottom lip trembled. “Fine. So we’re in love. What do you want from me, Josh?” He let out a shaky breath, and the relief transformed every inch of his body. His eyes softened into hope. He closed the space between us and gathered my face in his hands. “I want what we had today, all the time. I want to be with you. I want to hold your hand on a walk and kiss you in a damn booth. I want you to answer my fucking calls and let me hug you. I want to make plans with you on New Year’s and my birthday and tell people you’re my girlfriend.” His eyes begged me. “Please, Kristen. Just…stop.

I didn't care how bad we were for each other or that he'd be off to college soon; I just remembered that I was in love with him.

I flip between watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and The Kissing Booth, yes, both young adult movies, but it’s my favorite genre.

The only way I was going was up.

I’m just—I’m so bad at this. How am I so bad at this? You know what I did last night? I watched every love confession scene I could find, and every single one of them reminded me of you. All of them. Notting Hill. Crazy Rich Asians. Ten Things I Hate About You— Ben, I cried watching the end of the Kissing Booth sequel, because for me, it’s always you. You’re the point of every story.