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“How long have you done it?”
“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”
“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”
“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”
“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”
“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”
“I’ve always noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. ”
― The Hating Game
“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”
“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”
“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”
“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”
“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”
“I’ve always noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. ”
― The Hating Game
“Absolutely pathetic.”
I make a Jeopardy! buzzer sound. “Who is Joshua Templeman?”
“Lucinda flirting with couriers. Pathetic.”
Joshua is hammering away on his keyboard. He certainly is an impressive touch typist. I stroll past his desk and am gratified by his frustrated backspacing.
“I’m nice to him.”
“You? Nice?”
I’m surprised by how hurt I feel. “I’m lovely. Ask anyone.”
“Okay. Josh, is she lovely?” he asks himself aloud. “Hmm, let me think.”
He picks up his tin of mints, opens the lid, checks them, closes it, and looks at me. I open my mouth and lift my tongue like a mental patient at the medication window.
“She’s got a few lovely things about her, I suppose.”
I raise a finger and enunciate the words crisply: “Human resources.”
He sits up straighter but the corner of his mouth moves. I wish I could use my thumbs to pull his mouth into a huge deranged grin. As the police drag me out in handcuffs I’ll be screeching, Smile, goddamn you.
We need to get even, because it’s not fair. He’s gotten one of my smiles, and seen me smile at countless other people. I have never seen him smile, nor have I seen his face look anything but blank, bored, surly, suspicious, watchful, resentful. Occasionally he has another look on his face, after we’ve been arguing. His Serial Killer expression.”
― The Hating Game
I make a Jeopardy! buzzer sound. “Who is Joshua Templeman?”
“Lucinda flirting with couriers. Pathetic.”
Joshua is hammering away on his keyboard. He certainly is an impressive touch typist. I stroll past his desk and am gratified by his frustrated backspacing.
“I’m nice to him.”
“You? Nice?”
I’m surprised by how hurt I feel. “I’m lovely. Ask anyone.”
“Okay. Josh, is she lovely?” he asks himself aloud. “Hmm, let me think.”
He picks up his tin of mints, opens the lid, checks them, closes it, and looks at me. I open my mouth and lift my tongue like a mental patient at the medication window.
“She’s got a few lovely things about her, I suppose.”
I raise a finger and enunciate the words crisply: “Human resources.”
He sits up straighter but the corner of his mouth moves. I wish I could use my thumbs to pull his mouth into a huge deranged grin. As the police drag me out in handcuffs I’ll be screeching, Smile, goddamn you.
We need to get even, because it’s not fair. He’s gotten one of my smiles, and seen me smile at countless other people. I have never seen him smile, nor have I seen his face look anything but blank, bored, surly, suspicious, watchful, resentful. Occasionally he has another look on his face, after we’ve been arguing. His Serial Killer expression.”
― The Hating Game
“Books were, and always would be, something a little magic and something to respect.”
― The Hating Game
― The Hating Game
“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable," she pleaded. "Something beautiful and full of monsters."
“Beautiful and full of monsters?"
“All the best stories are.”
― Strange the Dreamer
“Beautiful and full of monsters?"
“All the best stories are.”
― Strange the Dreamer
“MY PAJAMAS ARE soaked with sweat when I jolt awake and there is a third person in my bedroom. A man I’ve never seen before. I begin screaming like an injured monkey.
“Calm down,” Josh says into my ear. I scramble into his lap and press my face into his collar bone, huffing his cedar scent so hard I probably suck out his ghost. I’m about to be taken to a scary medical facility, away from the safety of my bed and these arms.
“Don’t let them, Josh! I’ll get better!”
“I’m a doctor, Lucy. How long and what symptoms?” The man puts on some gloves.”
― The Hating Game
“Calm down,” Josh says into my ear. I scramble into his lap and press my face into his collar bone, huffing his cedar scent so hard I probably suck out his ghost. I’m about to be taken to a scary medical facility, away from the safety of my bed and these arms.
“Don’t let them, Josh! I’ll get better!”
“I’m a doctor, Lucy. How long and what symptoms?” The man puts on some gloves.”
― The Hating Game
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