My first kiss. A new kind of kiss, like the new kind of music still playing, softly, in the distance - wild and arrhythmic, desperate. Passionate.

Her eyes are shining; she’s excited now, ready to go. For a moment, standing in the fuzzy haze of sunlight still penetrating the blinds, she appears to be glowing, as though lit up by some internal flame. And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It’s the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.

I hate studying and I hate partying. But I'm okay with motocross. And muscles.Motocross and Muscles. Now that should be a Lifetime movie.

He's tall with shaggy blond hair and muscular arms. He's holding a twenty-dollar bill. He's muscular. And he's holding a twenty--wait, I already said that.