Lola And The Boy Next Door Quotes

I know you aren't perfect. But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

Just because something isn't practical doesn't mean it's not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.

Perfect is overrated. Perfect is boring." I smile. "You don't think I'm perfect?" "No. You're delightfully screwy, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

When it's right, it's simple.

So do you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip. "Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds. "If the person is... Lola?" This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket.

And if I'm the stars, Cricket Bell is entire galaxies.

There are some people in life that you can't get over.

Sometimes a mistake isn't a what. It's a who.

I don't believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.

Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to not make the same mistake twice.

People should say what they mean and not make other people stumble around.

It's easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why we like something.

Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.

And I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.

I draw him closer by his tie and whisper into his ear, "Cricket Bell, I have been in love with you for my entire life.

What just happened?" "Your father invited the former love of your life in for pie." "Yeah, that's what I thought.

Do you know my biggest regret?" She asks. "That you turned into this bright, beautiful, fascinating person... and I can't take credit for any of it.

Lola?" Cricket is on his knees at the side of my bed. I feel it. "I'm here," he whispers. "You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here.

Anna prods St. Clair's shoulder. "Come on. Weren't you gonna show me that thing?" "What thing?" She stares at him. He stares back. She cocks her head toward Cricket and me. "Ah, yes." St. Clair stands. "That thing." They rush out. The door shuts, and St. Clair shouts, "Lola, Cricket wants to show you his thing, too-oo!

No more moving. I'm here. I'm wherever you are.

What...what about when I'm married?” “We'll buy a cot. Your husband can sleep on that when he visits.

There's something about blue eyes. The kind of blue that startles you every time they're lifted in your direction. The kind of blue that makes you ache for them to look at you again. Not the blue green or blue gray, the blue that's just blue. Cricket has those eyes.

Remember that day I made you the elevator?” he suddenly asks. I give him a faint smile. “How could I forget?” “That was the day I had my first kiss.” My smile fades. “I’m better now,” He sets the apple beside me. “At kissing, just so you know.

I look at you, and I think about you, and ... I don't know. No one has ever confounded me the way you do.

No, I don't love Max anymore. But I don't want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I'm full, when I can give something back to you. I don't have much to give right now.

What do you say to someone who is not the same and yet completely the same?

Once upon a time, there was a girl who talked to the moon. And she was mysterious and she was perfect, in that way that girls who talk to moons are. In the house next door, there lived a boy. And the boy watched the girl grow more and more perfect, more and more beautiful with each passing year. He watched her watch the moon. And he began to wonder if the moon would help him unravel the mystery of the beautiful girl. So the boy looked into the sky. But he couldn't concentrate on the moon. He was too distracted by the stars. And it didn't matter how many songs or poems had already been written about them, because whenever he thought about the girl, the stars shone brighter. As if she were the one keeping them illuminated. One day, the boy had to move away. He couldn't bring the girl with him, so he brought the stars. When he'd look out his window at night, he would start with one. One star. And the boy would make a wish on it, and the wish would be her name. At the sound of her name, a second star would appear. And then he'd wish her name again, and the stars would double into four. And four became eight, and eight became sixteen, and so on, in the greatest mathematical equation the universe had ever seen. And by the time an hour had passed, the sky would be filled with so many stars that it would wake the neighbors. People wondered who'd turned on the floodlights. The boy did. By thinking about the girl.

Nathan nods. "Have a good time. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." I hear Andy as I'm walking out the front door. "Honey, that threat doesn't work when you're gay.

It's become impossible to deny he means something to me.

History books are filled with lies. Whoever wins the war tells the story.

If I weren't standing next to your boyfriend, I'd be tempted to ask you out myself." She blushes, and St. Clair bounds inside the box office and wrestles her into a hug. "Miiiiiiiiine!" he says. "Cut it out." Anna pushes him off, laughing. "You'll get fired. And then I'll have to support your sorry arse for the rest of our lives.

I collapse in bed and fall asleep with me other hand clasped around the blue rubber band. And I dream about blue eyes and blue nails and first-kiss lips dusted with blue sugar crystals.

You should show encouragement whenever you can. People try harder when they know that someone cares about them.

You're doing the girl thing. Saying you're happy when you're not.

I want to kiss him for the rest of the night, for the rest of our lives. The one.

And it didn’t matter how many songs or poems had already been written about them, because whenever he thought about the girl, the stars shone brighter. As if she were the one keeping them illuminated.

But I hurt you." His voice grows quiet. "I wish that I hadn't.

Saw two fallen branches in the shape of a heart. Thought of you.

It's maddening how someone so easy to read can be so impossible to understand.

When you're asleep, no one asks you to do anything. No one expects anything of you. And you don't have to face any of your troubles.

Thank you for helping my sister,” he says. I lean forward, mimicking his position. “I’m happy to.” Calliope leans out her window. “STOP FLIRTING AND GET BACK TO WORK.

What'd I tell you about musicians? That bad boy type will only break your heart.

It's not stupid to want to put on a pretty dress and feel beautiful for a night.

You only have one chance to make a first impression.

Parents are excellent at stating the obvious.

When two people are in love, it’s supposed to work. It has to work. No matter how difficult the circumstances are.

Being with Anna is easy. She's the one." The one. It stops my heart. I thought Max was the one, but... there's that other one. The first one. "Do you believe in that?" I ask quietly. "In one person for everyone?" Something changes in St Clair's eyes. Maybe sadness. "I can't speak for anyone but myself," he says. "But, for me, yes. I have to be with Anna. But this is something you have to figure out on your own. I can't answer that for you, no one can." "Oh." "Lola." He rolls his chair over to my side. "I know things are shite right now. And in the name of friendship and full disclosure, I went through something similar last year. When I met Anna, I was with someone else. And it took a long time before I found the courage to do the hard thing. But you have to do the hard thing." I swallow. "And what's the hard thing?" "You have to be honest with yourself.

Hi," I whisper. He peels off my hands and turns toward the aisle. "Please don't make this any harder than it already is," he whispers back.

You don't think I'm perfect?" "No. You're delightfully screwy, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

Where in the bloody hell did that come from?" asks the other person behind the counter. Or more precisely, on top of the counter, where her ridiculously attractive, English-accented boyfriend is perched. He's the other thing I like about Anna. Wherever she goes, he follows. He nods toward the baby wipe. "What else are you carrying in your pockets? Dust rags? Furniture polish?" "Watch it," she says. "Or I'll scrub your arms, Étienne." He grins. "As long as you do it in private.

You can't avoid your problems forever. No one can.

Here’s the thing about Cricket Bell. You can’t NOT notice him when he walks into a room. The first thing that registers is his height, but it’s quickly followed by recognition of his energy. He moves gracefully like his sister, but with an enthusiasm he can’t quite control- the constantly moving body, hands, feet. He’s been subdued the last few times I’ve seen him, but he’s fully revived now.

Something deep inside me lurched. The stirring was as startling and unpleasant as it was thrilling and revolutionary.

Why didn't you guys dress up?" Lindsey asks. "We did." Calliope cracks her first smile. "we're dressed as twins." Lindsey grins back. "Hmm, I see it now. Fraternal or identical?" "You'd be surprised how many people ask," Cricket says. "What do you tell them?" Lindsey asks. "That I have a penis." Oh God. My cheeks burn as they all burst into laughter. Think about something else, Dolores. ANYTHING else. Cucumbers, Bananas, Zucchini. AHHHH! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I turn my face away from them as Calliope fakes a yakking sound.

He glances down and notices that I'm still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it's HIS index finger that wraps underneath MY rubber band. I shiver wonderfully. "I'm never taking it off." Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. "It'll fall off." "I'll ask you for another one." "I'll give you another one." He smiles and touches his nose to mine.

I told him your loins were clearly burning, and he should man up and make a move." "You did not!" "I did. And if he doesn't, then I suggest you jump his bones." ... I finally register what he's wearing. It's a handsome skinny black suit with a shiny sheen. The pants are too short - on purpose, of course - exposing his usual pointy shoes and a pair of blue socks that match my dress exactly. And I totally want to jump him.

They stayed with my mum." "That's... weird." "Not really. Mum is cool, easy to get along with." I raise a teasing eyebrow. "So where did YOU guys stay?" "Where we always stay." He stares back solemnly. "In our very separate dormitories.

I blame it on his pants.

It’s amazing how clothing affects how people see—or don’t see—you.

Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I'm laughing, if I think he's funny, and I want him to know that I do think he's funny, and I want him to know that I'm glad he's my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he's really here.

I dream about reaching across the backseat and touching his hand. Just one hand. It closes slowly, tightly around mine, and the sensation of his skin against mine is astounding. I've never felt anything like it before.

You have a roommate." "Yeah." He sounds confused. "The, um, picture on your door surprised me." "NO. No. I prefer my women with...fewer carnivorous beasts and less weaponry." He pauses and smiles. "Naked is okay. What she needs are a golden retriever and a telescope. Maybe then it would do it for me." I laugh. "A squirrel and a laboratory beaker?" "A bunny rabbit and a flip chart," I say. "Only if the flip chart has mathematical equations on it." I fake swoon onto his bed. "Too much, too much!

She rests her hand on the ruffled costume beside her. “Just answer this one question. My brother never got over you. Did you ever get over him?”I swallow. “There are some people in life that you can’t get over.” “Good.” Calliope stands and gives me a grim smile. “But break Cricket’s heart? I’ll break your face.

I slide my hand between our mouths, just in time. His lips are soft against my palm. I slowly, slowly remove it. “No, I don’t love Max anymore. But I don’t want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I’m full, when I can give something back to you. I don’t have much to give right now.” Cricket’s limbs are still, but his chest is pounding hard against my own. “But you’ll want me someday? That feeling you once had for me … that hasn’t left either?” Our hearts beat the same wild rhythm. They’re playing the same song. “It never left,” I say.

He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, its been crossed off. There's only a black box. "Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn't know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but...I couldn't. That one small move felt impossible." Now I'm staring at my hands, too. "I would have let you take it." "I know." His voice croaks.

The moon is fat, but half of her is missing. A ruler-straight line divides her dark side from her light. She hangs low over the bustling Castro, noticeably earlier than the night before. Autumn is coming. For as long as I can remember, I’ve talked to the moon. Asked her for guidance. There’s something deeply spiritual about her pale glow, her cratered surface, her waxing and waning. She wears a new dress every evening, yet she’s always herself.

Being a good person, or a better person, or whatever it is you're worried about and trying to fix? It shouldn't change who you are. It means you become more like yourself.

So neither is "the woman". They're both gay men. Duh.

Life is too short to be the same person everyday.

I close his fingers around the gift. “I threw away your bottle cap, because it killed me to look at. But I never could throw away this. I’ve been waiting to give it to you for two and a half years.” “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers. “I’m almost full,” I say. “Thank you for waiting for me, too.

I finally realized how absurd it was that I'd worried so much about what my classmates thought about me. It's not like I wanted to look like them.

Cricket Bell.” I smiled into my phone. “How did you get so wise?

It doesn't matter how much fabric is between us, the solid strength of his body against mine is electric. Charged. And then our arms are enveloping and our fingers are digging and our mouths are searching and our bodies find this lock.

When I come back, the club is packed. There's hardly any standing room. Anna snagged a wooden bar stool, one of the few seats here. St. Clair stands close to her, facing her, and he smoothes the platinum stripe in her hair. She pulls him even closer by the top of his jeans, one finger tucked inside. It's an intimate gesture. I'm embarrassed to watch, but I can't look away. He kisses her slowly and deeply. They don't care that anyone could watch. Or maybe they've forgotten they aren't alone. When they break apart, Anna says something that makes him fall into silly, boyish laughter. For some reason, that's the moment that makes me turn away. Something about their love is painful.

But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

He’s coming over,” Lindsay says. “What do you want me to do? Kick him in the balls? I’ve been dying to kick him in the balls.

Why did he do it?" "For the same reason everyone makes mistakes. He fell in love.

I just want you to know that we didn't do anything but talk and sleep - sleep sleep," he quickly adds. "Like with eyes closed and hands to oneself and dreaming. Innocent dreams. I would never do anything behind your back. I mean, never anything dishonorable. I mean-

Did you wake me up... to talk about candy?

Andy once clipped a magazine article about how black dogs are always the last to be adopted at shelters and, therefore, more likely to be put down. Which is totally Dog Racism, if you ask me.

I'm just saying that if it were Anna, I'd want to meet her coworkers. See where she's spending her time." I stare at him, hard. "Obviously.

Cricket walks several steps behind me. It's a careful distance. I wonder if he's looking at my butt. WHY DID I JUST THINK THAT? Now my butt feels COLOSSAL. Maybe he's looking at my legs. Is that better? Or worse? Do I want him looking at me? I hold on to the bottom of my dress as I climb into the backseat and crawl to the other side. I'm sure he's looking at my butt. He has to be. It's huge, and it's right there, and it's huge. No. I'm acting crazy. I glance over, and he smiles at me as he buckles his seat belt. My cheeks grow warm. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

It's why she's always switching coaches, and it's why she'd rather get third instead of second. When she gets third, at least she's happy to have placed. But second. That's too close to first.

You aren't your name. Your decisions are your own.

But I'm worse. I'm a child playing dress-up, who can't even recognize herself under her own costume.

The realization is surprising, but the one that follows stuns me even more. I'm not in love with him anymore. Instead, looking at him makes me feel...hollow.

Cricket removes his hand. I blink at him, and he cautiously offers his arm. I hesitate. And then I take it. And then we're so close that I smell him. I smell him. His scent is clean like a bar of soap, but with a sweet hint of mechanical oil. We don't speak as he leads me across the street to the bus stop. I press against him. Just a little. His other arm jumps, and he lowers it. But then he raises it again, slowly, and his hand comes to rest on top of mine. It scorches. The heat carries a message: I care about you. I want to be connected to you. Don't let go.

I’m not even embarrassed to hug my parents in public. Except when Nathan wears a sweatband when he goes running. Because really!

I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. "Is this okay?" I whisper. "Are you okay?" His reply is anguished. Honest. "I love you.

Perfection is overrated. Perfection is boring

If I looked at this dress as one massive thing, it would be too overwhelming. No one could create such a gown. But by breaking it down into tiny, individual steps, it becomes something I can achieve.

It's all happening at once, but everything I do seems to be wrong

Hello?” No reply. My shoulders sag. “What’s the point of a staircase if no one is here to watch my entrance?

Even his hair seemed more startled than usual.

I know. As if I’d ever go for him now that my dad wants me to date him.” “As if you’d ever go for his again.” “Right…right.

His name explodes inside of me like cannon fire.

Anna es la única persona que le llama por su nombre. El resto de nosotros lo llamamos por su apellido. St. Clair. No estoy segura de por qué. Es sólo una de esas cosas.

Mis botas de combate con plataformas abren el camino. Y mantengo mi cabeza en alto hacia mi gran entrada, de la mano del chico que me dio la luna y las estrellas.

How did you know? That she wasn't the one for him?" Now he's staring at his hands, slowing rubbing them together. "They just didn't have that . . . natural magic. You know? It never seemed easy." My voice grows tiny. "Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work?" Cricket's head shoots up, his eyes bulging as they grasp my meaning. "NO. I mean, yes, but . . . sometimes there are ... extenuating circumstances. That prevent it from being easy. For a while. But then people overcome those ...circumstances . . . and . . ." "So you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip. "Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds. If the person is . . . Lola?" This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket." Chapter 27 Pg 273