Leah On The Offbeat Quotes

Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love- the feeling of having a home in some else’s brain.

I can’t fuck your life, I’m monogamously fucking my own life.

I hate when assholes have talent. I want to live in a world where good people rule at everything and shitty people suck at everything.

I swear, people can’t wrap their minds around the concept of a fat girl who doesn’t diet. Is it that hard to believe I might actually like my body?

Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

I can't help it. I'm a Slytherin." And I'm the worst kind of Slytherin. I'm the kind who's so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can't even function. I'm the Draco from some shitty Drarry fic that the author abandoned after four chapters.

Leah.' Mom shakes her head. 'You've got to stop doing this.' 'Doing what?' 'Burning everything to the ground whenever something goes wrong.

You can't just like Harry Potter. You have to be balls-out obsessed with it.

I used to think boners literally pointed in the direction of the person you're attracted to, like a compass. That would be helpful. Mortifying as fuck, but at least it would clarify things.

I hate when writers make Draco sweet. Sorry, but Draco's a bitch. Own it. I mean, yeah, he's a ball of mush underneath, but you have to earn it with him.

Apparently, Simon’s dad asked the tour guide at Duke to “please elaborate on the campus gay scene.” “I wanted to fucking die,” Simon told me.

There's this tug in my chest. Because when Bram says Simon's name, he pronounces every part of it. Like it's worth being careful over.

It's like it doesn't even matter if I like my body, because there's always someone there to remind me I shouldn't.

She probably thinks Troye Sivan's songs are about girls.

I'm basically your resident fat Slytherin Rory Gilmore.

RIP Leah Burke. She died of acute awkwardosis.

I am such a dick. Like, I'm an actual flaccid penis of a person.

It was unicorns vomiting sunbeams.

But it sucks when life moves along without you. Sometimes I feel left out even when life's moving along with me.

But I know what it's like to be not good enough, in some bone-deep fundamental way.

if Katie Leung sweetly rejecting Daniel Radcliffe in a Scottish accent wasn't your sexual awakening, I don't even want to know you.

Then her hand brushed close to mine, and my organs rearranged themselves.

I feel stronger when I look cute.

She makes me want to shove my hand into my chest and rip my own heart out.

Fuck. Fuckstravaganza.

Did you know I had an ultrasound the day before my prom?" "That's . . . cool?" "It was cool! It was the big one, too. That's when I found out your gender." "Gender is a social construction.

That has to be the best part of being in love—the feeling of having a home in someone else’s brain.

I feel like a campfire, like I could burn for days.

Can ambiguous social situations kindly go fuck themselves?

I don't even dislike Abby. It's just that my brain doesn't work right around her.

That girl is a suburban dad's midlife crisis in a high school senior's body

What a fucking slightly adorable doofus.

I think self-consciousness is in my bones.

We went above and beyond for you, Simon.

Am I the worst person?” “Well, no,” says Simon. “That would be Voldemort.

And in that moment--for a split second-- I feel it. How short that is. How soon everything changes. It's strange, because good-byes are a thing I can understand intellectually, but they almost never feel real. Which makes it hard to brace for impact. I don't know how to miss people when they're standing right in front of me.

I never judge someone for not knowing a band. I only judge the ones who try to fake it.

I still see flaws in my work, everywhere I look. It's exhausting and mortifying and almost unbearable.

And there’s vodka. In the bathroom.” “In the bathroom?” Simon raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Don’t tell my parents. It’s under the sink behind the toilet bowl cleaner. It’s the one in the vodka bottle. Don’t drink the toilet bowl cleaner.

Because that's why bi girls exist, Garrett. For your masturbatory fantasies.

I dare you to kiss me," she says.

Sure. Unless you like nerdy gay wonderland better.

Though the idea of objective hotness fucks me up a little. The idea that certain arrangements of facial features are automatically superior. It’s like someone woke up one day with a boner for big-eyed, soft-lipped, tight-bodied cheekbone people, and we all just decided to go along with that.

She hugs me, and it’s like hugging a flower. It’s like that with skinny people. I’m always terrified I’ll crush them.

I’ve never understood the appeal of drinking. It’s not like liquor tastes good. I mean, I know it’s not about that. It’s about feeling loose and unstoppable. Simon described it to me once. He said drinking lets you say and do things without filtering or overthinking. But I don’t get how that’s a good thing

I wish I had the kind of talent that emerged fully formed. I don't like people seeing me in progress.

I just don't like good-byes.

This is what a mess I am. I can’t write a two-word text without losing my shit.

I'm not saying we agree on everything. Morgan likes dubbed anime, which is basically blasphemy, and Anna once described Chiba Mamoru as "barely attractive." But other times, it's as if we read each other's minds.

You like it?” I almost sputter. Abby likes Harry Potter. That’s like saying Mr. Rogers was nice. Reece King is decent-looking. You can’t just like Harry Potter. You have to be balls-out obsessed with it.

It makes me cringe to admit this, but I want the whole prom thing. The dress, the limo, all of it. It actually hurts, imagining prom happening without me. Me, alone in my pajamas, spending the whole night trolling Instagram and Snapchat. Watching everything unfold virtually. Seeing once and for all how little I'm missed.

I glance at her sidelong. "You want it to wreck you?" "Do I want to love him enough that leaving him would wreck me? Yeah.

My cheeks are off-the-charts warm. I could grill steaks on them. I could break thermometers and straighten your hair and give you second-degree burns.

And I'm the worst kind of Slytherin, I'm the kind who's so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can't even function.

Abby Suso is singlehandedly reclaiming eye crinkles for our generation.

Dude, if you like me- if you actually like me- then be jealous. Be worried. Be something. If this were Nick flirting with me, Garrett would think woah: competition. But because it's Abby, it doesn't mean anything. It's like it doesn't count.

All my ships, straight-up kissing: Inej and Nina, Percabeth, a few original characters.

Thomas Jefferson helped the Marquis de Lafayette draft a declaration,” Simon blurts. “Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

Maybe I'd have spent a little less time watching the action from the back of the auditorium. Maybe I'd have spent more time making out in the back of the auditorium.

It’s too much. And I don’t want to embrace the suck. I want things to not suck. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

I’ve always thought that was such an intimate thing to do: touching the screen of another person’s phone.

Lowkey bi, a little bit bi. Just be bi. Like, come on.” “What? No.” She draws herself up. “You don’t get to decide my label.” “It’s not a real label!

You are trouble, Suso.

What the fuck is a duck tour?

I think I hate the concept of needing space. What it really means is that the person is mad at you, or hates you, or doesn't give a shit about you. They just don't want to admit it.

It has to be easier for people with penises. Does this person get you hard? Yes? Done. I sued to think boners literally pointed in the direction of the person you're attracted to like a compass. That would be helpful. Mortifying as fuck, but at least it would clarify things.

He sniffs and turns his head to look at me. There's a tear streaking down his cheek, sliding out from under his glasses. He wipes it away with the heel of his hand. "I just don't like good-byes." "I know." "I don't want to leave him or you or Abby or any of you guys." His voice catches. "I don't know anyone in Philly. I don't know how people do this.

I remember when this store opened," Morgan says. "I was obsesed with American Girls." Anna raises her eyebrows. "You're still obsessed." "Not with all of them." Morgan swipes her. "Just Rebecca. But, like, she's Jewish, so she's family.

I’m basically your resident fat Slytherin Rory Gilmore.

It has to be easier for people with penises. Does this person get you hard? Yes? Done.

Though the idea of objective hotness fucks me up a little. The idea that certain arrangements of facial features are automatically superior.

Drunk people are basically zombies. Once they're infected, they want to take you down with them. Seriously, even my friends are like that, and we're supposed to be nerds.

I don't get how people walk through life with all their windows wide open.

Though, let’s be real: if Katie Leung sweetly rejecting Daniel Radcliffe in a Scottish accent wasn’t your sexual awakening, I don’t even want to know you.

Embrace the suck. Let your guts hang out a little.

I’m pretty sure this is the kind of crush you can die from.

It's that girlfriend feeling again, not that I've ever been anyone's girlfriend. But I imagine it feels like this. Like I'm this tiny precious wanted thing. I can't decide if I feel gross about that, or if I only think I should feel gross about it.

I really love the smell of Waffle House. It’s this perfect combination of butter, maple syrup, bacon, and maybe onions? Whatever it is, they should bottle it up and pour it into a scented marker, so I can draw hot manga characters who smell like WaHo.

Because it sucks that there wasn’t one. I just wasn’t feeling it. At least not as much as I should be? Like, I’m sad about it, but it doesn’t wreck me, and I really feel like it should wreck me.

Of all fuckin' days" "Okay, please don't say fuckin'." She shoots me a self-conscious glance. "I thought we liked cussing." "We love cussing. But we say the fucking g. I don't want to hear that apostrophe, Mom.

My girlfriend who is Abby Suso. My brain is totally obsessed with this fact. Like, I’m pretty sure my academic career is over, and God help me on the AP exams, because how are you supposed to think about calculus WHEN ABBY SUSO IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND?

I need a distraction. God knows TV isn’t enough. I pull up some random fanfic on my phone, and then I take it down the hall. I can’t read Drarry in the living room, even when my mom’s not home. Drarry belongs in my bedroom. I don’t care if that sounds dirty. But I can’t focus. It isn’t the fic’s fault. It’s well written, and Draco has some bite to him, which is refreshing. I hate when writers make Draco sweet. Sorry, but Draco’s a bitch. Own it. I mean, yeah, he’s a ball of mush underneath, but you have to earn it with him.

But I have this feeling, suddenly, that I'm on a too-fast treadmill--like things are moving so quickly, I might slide off the back end.

Who?' 'Abby Suso.' I almost choke.

God. There's definitely some tiny invisible asshole punching me in the lungs. And winding up my heart to hyperspeed, and using my stomach like a trampoline.

Like every step I take leaves an imprint.

Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love—the feeling of having a home in someone else’s brain.

Essa deve ser a melhor parte de estar apaixonado — a sensação de ter um lar na mente de outra pessoa

I never imagined I could be bumped out of my own family. I feel knocked down. I feel demoted.

I think I hate the concept of needing space. What is really means is that the person's mad at you, or hates you, or doesn't give a shit about you. They just don't want to admit it.

And even though I’m looking in from the outside, I get closer with every step.

I don't even know how to respond to that. Like, I'm in an actual band, Wells. I'm not saying we're the Beatles, but we're not exactly honking our way through "Hot Cross Buns" in the school auditorium

Sometimes I think texting is the single worst technological advancement in history. Because yeah, it's convenient. But in moments like this, it's like someone's poking you repeatedly, going hey hey hey.

This is what a mess I am. I can’t write a two-word text without losing my shit. And I’m not even particularly attracted to this boy. If I were, I’d be dead. RIP Leah Burke. She died of acute awkwardosis.

I hate when assholes have talent. I want to live in a world where good people rule at everything and shitty people suck at everything. In short: I want Martin Addison’s voice to crack like an earthquake.

Right now. I don't think there's ever been a moment in history that was more perfect for coming out. But I don't. It's the weirdest thing. I'm lying in a room with my gay best friend, who is 100 percent likely to be completely fucking cool about this. Literally risk-free. But it's like the words won't come.

For one thing, Abby’s embarrassingly hetero. She’s the type who’d watch all of Sailor Moon and come away thinking Haruka and Michiru were just good friends. She probably thinks Troye Sivan’s songs are about girls.

That's right, Simon. Be totally open and tell him everything that's bothering you. Okay? You should definitely take my advice, because I'm just so fucking good at all this sharing and caring stuff myself. Feelings. I rule at them.

I just wish I knew how to feel about Garrett. This shouldn't be so complicated. It has to be easier for people with penises. Does this person get you hard? Yes? Done. I used to think boners literally pointed in the direction of the person you're attracted to, like a compass. That would be helpful. Mortifying as fuck, but at least it would clarify things.

Let your guts hang out. I don't even get that. Why would anyone want to live like that? Like it isn't bad enough I'm always one breath away from falling apart. I'm supposed to fall apart under a spotlight? It's too much. And I don't want to embrace the suck. I want things not to suck. And I don't think that's too much to ask.