“Now is not the time for you to shake your bloody fists at the night sky. You’re the one who chased this down. Take a look at yourself. Figure out how this happened. Help is coming—maybe a little reality check can keep you seething until it gets here. It’s better than slipping into shock. Face the facts. You’re laying there in the evening chill, broken and breathless and cold on the dewy suburban grass because of a basic truth: You’ve always been a sucker for love. And while you’ve also always b...een alert enough to know that about yourself, you’ve never quite been smart enough to do a goddamn thing about it. Since day one, you little punk, you’ve had it in your genes. Age seven: All Mary Ashford had to do was smile at you. You kicked over your chocolate milk. She skipped away and shared it with that red-headed oaf Mikey Vinson. They laughed. Held hands, even. You rube. Age fourteen: Sarah Miller actually asked you to the last dance of the year. Like a date, she said. Why wouldn’t you help her with her algebra homework?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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