What's a dementor?"I mean, I can't even. "Nora, you are no longer my sister.""So it's some Harry Potter thing," she says.

I take a sip of my beer, and it's - I mean, it's just astonishingly disgusting. I don't think I was expecting it to taste like ice cream, but holy fucking hell. People lie and get fake IDs and sneak into bars, and for this? I honestly think I'd rather make out with Bieber. The dog. Or Justin.

Wow, is that Katniss making out with Yoda?

It's more that I want to leap in and say certain things and do certain things, but I always seem to hold myself back. I think a big part of me is afraid.

Did you just tell us you're gay?" Asks Nick"Yes.""Okay," he says. Abby swats him. "What?""That's all you're going to say? Okay?""He said not to make a big deal out of it," Nick says. "What am I supposed to say?""Say something supportive. I don't know. Or awkwardly hold his hand like I did. Anything"Nick and I look at each other."I'm not holding your hand," I tell him, smiling a little."All right"--he nods--"but know that I would.

We are out and we are alive, and everyone in the universe is out here right now.

I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re not 100% committed to your Oreo diet.

They put me in a box, and every time I try to nudge the lid open, they slam it back down. It’s like nothing about me is allowed to change.

He tells me to pick the music. I’m not sure if he knows that handing me his iPod is like handing me the window to his soul.

But I'm tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change,but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways ..... And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.

I remember exactly how it felt to see that first message from him in my inbox. It was a little bit surreal. He wanted to know about me. For the next few days at school after that, it felt like I was a character in a movie. I could almost imagine a close-up of my face, projected wide-screen. It's strange, because in reality, I'm not the leading guy. Maybe I'm the best friend.

I don't know. There's just something kind of mortifying to me about the intensity of those feelings. I remember them so clearly.

From: bluegreen118@gmail.com To: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.comDate: Jan 7 at 7:23 AMSubject: Re: Really?On the Tumblr-you mean creeksecrets? .....But I really don't think I'm wrong. Jacques a dit. Right?-BlueSo, Yeah, I've been careless. I guess I left a trail of clues. and I shouldn't be surprised that Blue put them together. Maybe I kind of wanted him to.Jacques a dit is "Simon Says" in French, by the way, And it's obviously not as clever as I thought it was.

Why would I want to watch other people kissing," I say, "when I could be kissing you?

I guess what I mean is that sometimes it seems like everyone knows who I am except me.

I can’t seem to shake this perpetual awareness of being Molly.

And it's almost too perfect. Almost too Disney.

I was basically born knowing how to casually stalk people on social media.

I feel like I'm supposed to make some comment to underscore the ridiculousness of it all, but honestly? It's sort of nice not to have to be cynical for a change. I guess it feels like I'm a part of something.

It's stillness and pressure and rhythm and breathing.

I think the way I feel about the internet is the way some people feel about the ocean. It's so huge and unknowable, but also totally predictable. You type a line of symbols and click enter, and everything you want to happen, happens.Not like real life, where all the wanting in the world can't make something exist.