Starstruck Quotes

You saved me again," she told him with a starstruck gaze. He cupped her cheek and gave her a tender smile in the dark. "Because you are my princess and I am your knight.

It’s weird how we have to get a little older to realize that people are just people. It should be obvious, but it’s not.

This is weird. There's a dead woman in front of me like dozens of other dead women I've seen. But this one is a queen, and a famous one. If it's possible to be starstruck by the dead, then I guess that's what's happening.

I'm not just one flavor. You're not either. So it all comes down to which 'you' you want to show the world.

Walk to her. Take her hand. But his feet were leaden, and Dorian could do nothing except watch her. His skin flushed beneath his small black mask. He didn't know why, but seeing her made him feel like a man. She was something out of a dream- a dream in which he was not a spoiled young prince, but a king.

Priests always had much attention lavished on them by their starstruck fans,those devout housewives and wealthy congregants who treated them as if they were guardians of the velvet rope blocking entrance into that ever so exclusive nightclub, Heaven.

A guy and a girl can just be friends, but at one point or another they will fall for each other, maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.

I used to think Romeo and Juliet was the greatest love story ever written. But now that I’m middle-aged, I know better. Oh, Romeo certainly thinks he loves his Juliet. Driven by hormones, he unquestionably lusts for her. But if he loves her, it’s a shallow love. You want proof?” Cagney didn’t wait for Dr. Victor to say yay or nay. “Soon after meeting her for the first time, he realizes he forgot to ask her for her name. Can true love be founded upon such shallow acquaintance? I don’t think so. And at the end, when he thinks she’s dead, he finds no comfort in living out the remainder of his life within the paradigm of his love, at least keeping alive the memory of what they had briefly shared, even if it was no more than illusion, or more accurately, hormonal. “Those of us watching events unfold from the darkness know she merely lies in slumber. But does he seek the reason for her life-like appearance? No. Instead he accuses Death of amorousness, convinced that the ‘lean abhorred monster’ endeavors to keep Juliet in her present state, her cheeks flushed, so that she might cater to his own dissolute desires. But does Romeo hold her in his arms one last time and feel the warmth of her blood still coursing through her veins? Does he pinch her to see if she might awaken? Hold a mirror to her nose to see if her breath fogs it? Once, twice, three times a ‘no.’” Cagney sighed, listened to the leather creak as he shifted his weight in his chair. “No,” he repeated. “His alleged love is so superficial and selfish that he seeks to escape the pain of loss by taking his own life. That’s not love, but obsessive infatuation. Had they wed—Juliet bearing many children, bonding, growing together, the masks of the star-struck teens they once were long ago cast away, basking in the comforting campfire of a love born of a lifetime together, not devoured by the raging forest fire of youth that consumes everything and leaves behind nothing—and she died of natural causes, would Romeo have been so moved to take his own life, or would he have grieved properly, for her loss and not just his own?

Books were so much easier to relate to than people.

You’re his normality. You’re a part of him, and he is a part of you. That’s what makes this frightening, but that’s what makes it right.

Oreo has started putting jokes on the side of packages. Listen to this—‘Serving size: three cookies.

Mungkin ini adalah saat konstelasi bintang dan benda langit berubah. Pada saat itu berlangsung, mungkin bumi mengerut menjadi sangat kecil, sehingga pepatah bahwa dunia itu sempit benar-benar terjadi.

Bodinya minta dipanjat banget nggak, sih?

But it wasn't fair that he was so good-looking. He was such an asshole, and not in a charming way.

Life is better than any movie or TV show. In real life there is no plot and there are billions of characters.

happiness doesn’t leave scars.

He had something in him, how he walked, how he carried himself with that carelessness, he wasn’t my type entirely, if I ever had a type of guy before him.

Twenty minutes later, I walk out of Melinda's hotel with a plate of finger sandwiches, a bag of prostitute clothes, and a weird wedge on my head that makes me look like you could tip me upside down and fill it with cream of mushroom. I need another donut.

Dear Daniel, How do you break up with your boyfriend in a way that tells him, "I don't want to sleep with you on a regular basis anymore, but please be available for late night booty calls if I run out of other options"? Lily Charlotte, NC Dear Lily, The story's so old you can't tell it anymore without everyone groaning, even your oldest friends with the last of their drinks shivering around the ice in their dirty glasses. The music playing is the same album everyone has. Those shoes, everybody has the same shoes on. It looked a little like rain so on person brought an umbrella, useless now in the starstruck clouded sky, forgotten on the way home, which is how the umbrella ended up in her place anyway. Everyone gets older on nights like this. And still it's a fresh slap in the face of everything you had going, that precarious shelf in the shallow closet that will certainly, certainly fall someday. Photographs slipping into a crack to be found by the next tenant, that one squinter third from the left laughing at something your roommate said, the coaster from that place in the city you used to live in, gone now. A letter that seemed important for reasons you can't remember, throw it out, the entry in the address book you won't erase but won't keep when you get a new phone, let it pass and don't worry about it. You don't think about them; "I haven't thought about them in forever," you would say if anybody brought it up, and nobody does." You think about them all the time. Close the book but forget to turn off the light, just sit staring in bed until you blink and you're out of it, some noise on the other side of the wall reminding you you're still here. That's it, that's everything. There's no statue in the town square with an inscription with words to live by. The actor got slapped this morning by someone she loved, slapped right across the face, but there's no trace of it on any channel no matter how late you watch. How many people--really, count them up--know where you are? How many will look after you when you don't show up? The churches and train stations are creaky and the street signs, the menus, the writing on the wall, it all feels like the wrong language. Nobody, nobody knows what you're thinking of when you lean your head against the wall. Put a sweater on when you get cold. Remind yourself, this is the night, because it is. You're free to sing what you want as you walk there, the trees rustling spookily and certainly and quietly and inimitably. Whatever shoes you want, fuck it, you're comfortable. Don't trust anyone's directions. Write what you might forget on the back of your hand, and slam down the cheap stuff and never mind the bad music from the window three floors up or what the boys shouted from the car nine years ago that keeps rattling around in your head, because you're here, you are, for the warmth of someone's wrists where the sleeve stops and the glove doesn't quite begin, and the slant of the voice on the punch line of the joke and the reflection of the moon in the water on the street as you stand still for a moment and gather your courage and take a breath before stealing away through the door. Look at it there. Take a good look. It looks like rain. Love, Daniel Handler

Seandainya gue ketemu dia duluan dibanding suami gue, pasti anak-anak gue sekarang udah kayak turunan dewa Yunani.

I want to hear one more of your stories Tangle up in your dreams, give up the fight ‘Pour one more glass of that wine And I might not go home tonight...

Love isn't all sparks and firecrackers. Sometimes it’s more subtle than that.

It's all me. I'm not just one flavor. You're not, either. So it all comes down to which 'you' you want to show the world.

Amanda was always on her way somewhere. Sometimes she thought that feeling of moving forward was the only one she trusted. She just wondered whether she’d know when she was there.

The best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips #Chase

If she were on fire and I had a glass of water, I would drink it.

Greyson Tolliver spent his days as His Sonority, the Toll, consoling desperate, starstruck people and passing along wise advice from the Thunderhead. Except, of course, when he made shit up.

As the starstruck Lafayette later described his first glimpse of Washington, "It was impossible to mistake for a moment his majestic figure and deportment; nor was he less distinguished by the noble affability of his manner." What a sweet memory. Still, it does get on my nerves how easy it is for tall people to make a good first impression.

She was good at that, repressing her feelings, disguising them as something else. Sometimes she thought it was the only thing she was good at.

Hans and Christian just stare at me, faces grim. All I can think of is how awesome it would be if my name were Andersen.

Nobody gets married thinkng it won't work. They get married because they have hope it will.

Okay, I know it's weird, but whenever I watch a movie like this and someone goes underwater, I hold my breath to see if I would have survived." "It's not weird. I do that too. But I almost died watched Finding Nemo.

I'd like to know what you're thinking right now." "I'm not telling you. That's why I didn't say it out loud. Because that's how thingking works." Chase laughed. "Sometimes in interviews they ask you what superpower you'd like to have. I used to choose being able to read people's minds. Then Facebook happend, and I got over that.

I stare at Hans. Hans is shaped like an industrial-sized refrigerator. His hands are like cinder blocks. He should not be afraid of a little thing like the ocean.

You’ve been in Hollywood long enough to know that all the real acting happens offscreen.

She still doesn't trust my motives?" He was grinning now.

English was the only class I felt like I might be able to keep up with him, since I'd always been a big reader. Books were so much easier to relate to than people.

So, you want to see the house?" he asked, standing up. "Sure. Any cool futuristic gizmos you can show me? Food replicators or a holodeck or something?" "Funny. It's not Star Trek.

Guess you can take the girl off the Earth but you can’t take the Earth out of the girl. Not completely, anyway.

Where do you go when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely? I'll follow you When the stars go blue.

I want to remember the happy times,” I said. “But all I can remember is when he hurt me. Why is that?” “Probably because happiness doesn’t leave scars.

Every time I thought I couldn’t possibly love him more, he did something to prove me wrong.

She could always talk me into anything. My sister made me a little starstruck.

I've loved Anne Rice's books all my life and being able to talk with her was surreal. It was the only time I've ever been truly starstruck.

In that moment he was everything I had and could never lose; my sun, my moon, my star, a rock, a chest in which I could store every single secret and trust implicitly with the key.” - Chloe

My secret hideout. My super, incredibly top secret location that no one on earth knows about." Lindsey paused and turned her head away from the starstruck sky and toward Colin. "You wanna see it?

He’s rambling. Oh gosh, he looks so cute when he’s all caught up and nervous and rambling. I’ve never ever seen him lose his calm like this and boy, is it adorable. Without thinking I place my hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Cole.” When I’m sure he’s not going to start talking again, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his cheek. Applying the slightest pressure, I let them linger there for about five seconds before moving away. The dazed and starstruck look on Cole’s face is worth braving my fears. “Thank you, I’m sure I’ll love it,” I whisper before backing off and walking away.

The woman was Diana Vreeland, the high priestess of fashion and legendary fashion editor of Harper’s Bazaar and editor-in-chief of Vogue. Dana paused, eyes wide. Well, perhaps she was a bit star-struck after all.

What makes the Earth remarkable is not its position in the universe—many Earth-size planets orbit their stars close enough for liquid water to exist—but what inhabits it. It is not just the Earth’s liquid blue oceans but its vast desert plains too; the oxygen-rich atmosphere and solid molten core; the millions of species and the complex, diverse ecological systems—all of which combine in an exquisite, unique dance to make the Earth special.

Man, can you two even tell the rest of the world exists when you look at each other like that?" With an effort, I made myself focus on her, and on her words. "What? I mean, um, no, we didn't fight. And . . . no. At least, I can't.

But every woman thinks she'll be the one to change me. That our sex will be so magical, I'll be star-struck by her goods in the bedroom and put a ring on it. Or the least ask her out to a movie. And when I don't, they get all upset and confused. I'm the one who should be confused. I straight up tell them, and almost every time, they get mad when the agreement clearly was not a fuck tonight and dinner tomorrow.

My smell stays with you? I ruined you…for what?” “Your smell keeps me going all the time. I’m in a clutch game or at practice and it’s full count? Your cloves and vanilla scent calms me down. I spray it on the front of my uniform and rub my right hand across like this.” I demonstrate by rubbing my chest and she watches me in fascination like a starstruck teenager watches a rockstar play his bass. “I went to three different stores before I found the exact scent. Expensive. French perfume. Chamade by Guerlain.” She nods looking fascinated or charmed by me at least for a few seconds. “I got it in Paris when I was there a few years ago. I love it.” “I do too. So yes, you ruined me. For anyone else.” She’s smiling but then it slowly disappears like a countdown does as it goes from ten to zero. “What are you doing to me, Elvis?” she asks, looking troubled.

(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case) You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” – “A RAINBOW IN THE DARK” Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN” “HOLY DIVER” will lurk “BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA” “ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY” “JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”- “LORD OF THE LAST DAY” “MASTER OF THE MOON” you are When my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE” With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”, “MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you crave You’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”, “BETWEEN TWO HEARTS” When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN” “HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts “FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART” “FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD” “I AM” “ANOTHER LIE” “AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)” Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’ With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO” “DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL” Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow “DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS” Those “EVIL EYES” can see “LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”; “MY EYES” hate to fancy “SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT” Now it’s “TIME TO BURN” “TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER” And today its our turn “BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN” I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS” The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are! Forever you are deathless “SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS” Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN” “THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”! Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain “IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT” I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY” “ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD” Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity! By “KILLING THE DRAGON” “I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER” I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM” Like an “INVISIBLE” screamer Now that you are gone “THE END OF THE WORLD” is here “STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART” “PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear “CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA” Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”? “FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking for A “GYPSY” from above Dear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS” Our love “HERE’S TO YOU” “WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD” The “OTHER WORLD” anew “ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS” “THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND” The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN” Is what we long to find “THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING” Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN” “SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE” “WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to plan To “STAND UP AND SHOUT” before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL” Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL” “EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal. From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)

From Hobbes to the slaveholders to the neoconservatives, the right has grown increasingly aware that any successful defense of the old regime must incorporate the lower orders in some capacity other than underlings or starstruck fans. The masses must either be able to locate themselves symbolically in the ruling class or be provided with real opportunities to become faux aristocrats themselves in the family, the factory, and the field. The former path makes for an upside-down populism, in which the lowest of the low see themselves projected in the highest of the high; the latter makes for a democratic feudalism, in which the husband or supervisor plays the part of a lord. The former path was pioneered by Hobbes, Maistre, and various prophets of racism and nationalism, the latter by Southern slaveholders, European imperialists, and Gilded Age apologists. (And neo–Gilded Age apologists: “There is no single elite in America,” writes David Brooks. “Everyone can be an aristocrat within his own Olympus.” 105) Occasionally, as in the writing of Werner Sombart, the two paths converge: ordinary people get to see themselves in the ruling class by virtue of belonging to a great nation among nations, and they also get to govern lesser beings through the exercise of imperial rule.

I was in love. That truth hit me with a flash of light—then an audible boom. And some distant rumbling. Oh. It was just a thunderstorm.

I never would have believed a guy—any guy—could affect me like this.

I actually prefer SALTS to LOL. Smiled A Little, Then Stopped.

Don’t lose sight of the goal

Sometimes, Don’t Panic does not apply.

Look, you can't take people off their planet willy-nilly. It's called alien abduction, and is frowned upon in the most respectable circles.

Chemistry is touching someones mind and setting their body on fire

it was the softest material I had ever felt. Like it had been collected from the bellies of baby Angora bunnies raised on organic carrots who had slept on cotton balls.

I wish I could promise to never hurt you again. But I’ll hurt you. And you’ll hurt me. That’s what happens when people love each other.

I loved him and wanted a life with him. I knew our lives wouldn’t be perfect, but we would be perfect for each other, and that’s what mattered.

So, twelve plus one is the same as eleven plus two, right?” “Right.” “But did you know that when you take the letters in twelve plus one, you can rearrange them to be eleven plus two?

• Was there a handbook that could tell me what to do next? There were thousands of books that taught parenting; I was pretty sure there wasn't a self-help book about alien roommates. If there was, it was probably about abductees, not subletters.

My name is Sally Webber. I’m a human from Earth, a college dropout with no career ambition. I’m wearing a wig, and I really need to sit down, these heels are killing me. And I’m going to save my planet and everyone on it from complete annihilation.

Kathleen," he calls, his voice a groan. There is magic in names. Can she hear him? "Kathleen," he calls again, louder. Behind him, the denizens of Twilight murmur. "KATHLEEN," he cries. His anguish batters the shining wall, shifting the starstruck colors from rose and lapis to deep purple and bloody magenta, but it remains inviolable. Shadowman drops his scythe in the waters. He'll scream forever, if need be, until the day the walls tumble into the ocean. "Hey, you." Shadowman's attention whips to the top of the wall some distance down the shoreline to his left. An angel is perched on the edge - fair hair, fair-eyed, skin a soft café. A recent crossing. "Trade you," Custo says. Shadowman has no words. "You want in or don't you? Heaven's no place for me, and I'm not hanging around until they figure it out." The angel glances over his shoulder. The murmurs of Twilight grow louder, sharper, but Shadowman pays them no mind. Not anymore. They've already done their worst. "I do," Shadowman says. Custo flashes a grin. "Meet me at the wall.

It's not like she actually said I couldn't go. She just lectured me a little—about what boys like you expect from girls like me." I slanted a teasing glance up at him. What had gotten into me, that I was suddenly so comfortable, so brave, around him? He laughed out loud, a delicious sound. "Boys like me? You can tell her I don't expect anything at all. Though—" He went suddenly serious— "I may hope, a little." I discovered I wasn't quite brave enough to ask what he hoped, though the intensity in his eyes gave me a clue. My heart started beating faster.

Come on, baby,” Jake says climbing out of the car. By the time I’m out of the car, the star-struck young guy is taking the car keys from Jake and is walking around to the driver’s side with a huge smile on his face. “You didn’t just give the car to a random stranger did you?” I ask, smirking. “No,” he chuckles, gently swotting my behind with his hand. “He works for the place we’re going to. He’s going to go park the car for us … he’ll probably joy ride it first – can't say I blame him because I would if I was him – but as long as it’s back for when we need it, I’m cool.” “Aww, you’re so sweet, baby, letting the teenager go for a joyride in the hire car.” I nudge him with my hip.

As he lowered his lips to mine—slowly, this time—I let my eyes flutter closed. And at the first touch of his mouth, all my nervousness magically disappeared. He felt wonderful. Amazing. Impossibly fabulous. Without even thinking about it, I slid my hands up his shoulders, and at the same time I felt his arms come around my waist. His lips were firm, warm . . . perfect. I thought I might just die from happiness. Even though it was about five times longer than our first kiss, it was still over way too soon. With obvious reluctance, he pulled away, then planted one last feather-light kiss on the corner of my mouth before straightening up. "If I don't have the best game of my life now, it'll be a miracle.

Of course the Curies died. They identified ionizing radiation while bathing in it. There were risks involved in being your own guinea pig. But there was a long tradition of scientists doing just that: of paying for the expansion of human knowledge with their lives. I didn't deserve to be categorized with them, because honestly, I wasn't interested in the greater good. I just wanted to make myself better legs. I didn't mind other people benefiting in some long-term indirect way but it wasn't what motivated me. I felt guilty about this for a while. Every time a lab assistant looked at me with starstruck eyes, I felt I should confess: Look, I'm not being heroic. I'm just interested in seeing what I can do. Then it occured to me that maybe they all felt this way. All these great scientists who risked their themselves to bring light to darkness, maybe they weren't especially altruistic either. Maybe they were like me, seeing what they could do.

The worst thing about panic attacks is that you feel like you are dying. You struggle for oxygen, your chest cavity heaving with the weight of ten thousand worlds. Adrenaline floods your bloodstream and spikes your heart rate and you gasp, convinced your heart is failing. Your skin turns to fire and then ice, goosebumps erupting like tiny little mountains, forcing you to shake so hard you fall to the ground. Your heart stutters and thuds unevenly in your ears. Of course you’re not actually dying. You’re living. But isn’t living the hard part?

She really liked you, Noah,' 'Yeah, well, maybe I'm just an asshole.' I realize my hand is still in his hair and I retract it quickly. He grabs it, holds it against him. You're not an asshole I'm thinking, but for some reason I can't say it. It would be like admitting something else; like the fact that he's an asshole to every girl who likes him, but never to me. And then I'd have to really think about why that is and that's not something I'll ever be comfortable with at all, even though his eyes are like maps and his words are like anchors and his songs are like personal messages and I love all that. - Chloe

Joshua smiles, runs his finger round the rim of the coconut. ‘Some people are summer, and some people are winter,’ he says softly after a moment, but I’m just looking at the ocean now, trying not to fall.

Art is pleasurable, and that adds value to life. It’s also inspirational and influential. It isn’t the same thing as being the one to run into that burning building, but it can make people think about the person who does run into the building. Most of us get so caught up in our everyday lives we overlook those things.

Deferrers like being starstruck and rubbing elbows with people they know, admire, and respect.

If Steve ever was starstruck, it was by Lasseter, whose artistry seemed to be irrefutable evidence of what Steve believed to be the most important attribute of computers: that they were tools that could unleash and enhance human creativity.

I admitted, still drinking in his eyes, his amazing face. I never seemed to get enough of that.

this is Jewel, Indiana. Nothing ever happens here.” Not strictly true, since I had almost been killed here just last month,

Luxo Jr. was the breakthrough,” Steve told me many years later. If Steve ever was starstruck, it was by Lasseter, whose artistry seemed to be irrefutable evidence of what Steve believed to be the most important attribute of computers: that they were tools that could unleash and enhance human creativity. Despite his boyish ways (his office is stuffed with so many toys it could double as a Pixar museum, and his wardrobe consists exclusively of blue jeans and hundreds of loud, Hawaiian-style print shirts), Lasseter was a confident grown-up, and not persnickety in any way. While he never looked to Steve for creative advice on his short features, he calmly listened to his boss’s opinions, before going ahead with his own plans anyway. But he made compromises when needed, too, rather than insisting on perfection: when he couldn’t prepare a polished version of a short called Tin Toy in time for SIGGRAPH, he simply showed what he could and filled in the rest with line drawings. Lasseter

a thought intruded itself into my brain, unmistakably from without.  From the device.  From the Grentl. “WE ARE COMING.

left us alone in the kitchen and Rigel looked at me questioningly.

Zia crouched down so we were eye level. “Cheese makes Zo-Zo sad?” “Yeah, Chase made me sad.” Her eyes narrowed. “Then I hits Cheese.” “We don’t hit people, Zia,” my mom reminded her for the millionth time, but Zia wasn’t having it. She nodded and whispered dramatically, “I hits him.

she was wearing a skirt so short I could see her tonsils

My day felt so dark and awful that it should have come with Swedish subtitles. 

You thought your best bet was to find a fan and date her? What if I’d been psychotic?” “Then I wouldn’t still be here.” “Oh, you would be. Tied up in my basement.” He laughed and pressed a kiss against my eyelid that made my stomach go all fluttery. “But my therapist warned me to go slowly and to date like it was 1955.” I opened my eyes to give him a pointed, teasing look. “You’ve totally failed. We haven’t been to a single sock hop or drive-in, and we haven’t shared even one milk shake.

It was strange seeing him. Up to that point, Chase hadn’t been a real person to me. He was a character in a movie or a faceless entity sending out tweets. It was like it suddenly dawned on me that he was an actual human being. Like me. Or Lexi. Obviously way hotter and taller and more amazing than Lexi or me, but still. In all those years when we planned on meeting him, my imagined reactions usually involved screaming and jumping up and down, with tears streaming from my face. I didn’t feel the urge to do any of those things. Turned out I had some dignity where he was concerned. It was a nice thing to discover.

My mom’s got a lot on her plate. I try to help out when I can. She has this ongoing to-do list. Or as I call it, the Ta-Da List. Because it would be magic if we actually accomplished anything on it. But when you have this many small kids, it’s like continually cleaning up by yourself after a raging party you didn’t attend that happens every night. Which means my mother’s housekeeping style can best be described as ‘There appears to have been a struggle.

Inappropriate thoughts? What, had he imagined us hugging?

I looked like something the cat found in the dump, dragged across town, and then shoved under the dryer.

I was a font of useless information. The only thing that had ever rivaled my Chase obsession was my love of all things trivia. Trivial Pursuit games ended with me drinking the tears of my fellow players and leaving a trail of their bloodied hearts all over the board. After my grandparents left the Amish in Pennsylvania and moved out to California, one of the first things they bought was a TV. When I lived with them decades later, they still had that same television. The only program they ever watched was Jeopardy!, and I remember sitting on their uncomfortable couch in between them as they missed so many questions. My guess was that my love for weird cultural minutiae came from them. Alex Trebek was kind of my hero. So I tweeted out random facts. Which was better than having to hear Lexi say, “If you say one more thing about stoplight colors, I will slip arsenic into your orange juice.” Twitter was a good outlet for my useless knowledge. 

THE MIDDLE OF nowhere just got a lot more interesting!

was in love.

I was in love.

Whether he was really a Martian or really crazy barely even mattered. He was still incredible. And I was head over heels in love with him.

Before there was the universe, before the endless cities, the ships, or the Dread, before the Alliances and higher dimensional parties, there was only sleep. I was pretty happy just sleeping.

What does it mean when the guy you’re dating hasn’t tried to kiss you yet?” “Gay.” “Just because that happened to you once—” “Eleven times,” she corrected, applying the polish in short, careful strokes. “Seriously? Eleven times? Okay, just because that’s happened to you eleven times doesn’t mean that’s what’s happening here. And maybe you should stop dating fellow theater majors.

You’re bringing all of this?” he asked as we went inside, and before I could formulate an awesome retort, he added, “You’ve got enough junk here for a small army. Were you planning on invading the beach?” “Have you ever gone somewhere with four kids before? Trust me, it’s all necessary.” I grabbed Zia’s and Zelda’s car seats and turned toward the driveway, surprised by what I saw. “You own a minivan?” “I don’t own a minivan,” he responded, sounding offended. “I have many beautiful pieces of machinery, and I would not insult them by bringing something like that into my garage. I rented it. By myself. It was easier than I thought it would be. And I even remembered your tip about the gas icon and the arrow so I know the gas tank is on the driver’s side.” Now he sounded proud of himself, and I guessed he’d never rented a car on his own before.

I was hungry, and I remembered you also sometimes eat food, and I thought we could check out that new Brazilian steakhouse.” Her mood shifted from happy and excited to annoyed and let down. Probably because of her new cleanse that didn’t allow protein. “Ugh, you know I’m not eating anything with a face for the next two weeks.” “They cut that off before they bring it to you