"jerks," I Muttered. Then I Brightened. "oh,

Sydney Had Been Horrified To Discover My Home Library Consisted Of A Bartending Dictionary And An Old Copy Of Esquire, And At Her Pleading, I'd Promised To Read Something More Substantial. I Was Trying To Think Deep Thoughts As I Read Gatsby, But Mostly I Wanted To Throw Some Parties.

If I Was Drunk, I Wouldn’t Be Here At All. And Really, This Is Pretty Good For Four White Russians.” “white What?” I Almost Sat Down But Was Afraid The Chair Might Dematerialize Beneath Me. “it’s A Drink,” He Said. “you’d Think I Wouldn’t Be Into Something Named That—you Know, Considering My Own Personal Experience With Russians. But They’re Surprisingly Delicious. The Drinks, Not Real Russians.

My Death Will Not Be Penciled On Someone's Calendar.

I Unfolded The Note, And It Took Me A Few Seconds To Decipher Adrian’s Writing. If He Did Write Me A Dating Proposal, I Really Hoped He Would Type It.

If You Want Some Advice—which I'm Sure You Don't—you Guys Should Lay Off On The Magic. Christian Still Thinks You're Moving In On Lissa." "what?" He Asked In Mock Astonishment. "doesn't He Know My Heart Belongs To You?" "it Does Not. And No, He's Still Worried About It, Despite What I've Told Him." "you Know, I Bet If We Started Making Out Right Now, It Would Make Him Feel Better." "if You Touch Me," I Said Pleasantly, "i'll Provide You With The Opportunity To See If You Can Heal Yourself. Then We'd See How Badass You Really Are.