Becky Albertalli Quotes

It's really amazing, isn't it? Someone can trigger your sexual identity crisis and not have a clue they're doing it.

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

The universe knew it was love before we did

He laces our fingers and shrugs. And I'm dead. I am actually dead. There's no other way to explain it. I'm sitting in fucking Herald Square, holding hands with the cutest boy I've ever met, and I'm dead. I'm the deadest zombie ghost vampire who ever died. And now my mouth isn't working. It's like I'm stunned into silence. That never happens.

I remember when this store opened," Morgan says. "I was obsesed with American Girls."
Anna raises her eyebrows. "You're still obsessed."
"Not with all of them." Morgan swipes her. "Just Rebecca. But, like, she's Jewish, so she's family.

Honestly, the secret to impressing people is this: individual portions, packaged in mason jars. I

I actually haven't been to Chick-fil-A for a while. My sister heard they donate money to screw over gay people, and I guess it started to feel weird eating there.

I don't want to be that girl. I want to be the other kind of girl. The Olivia kind. Totally cool with being single. Not even interested in a relationship right now

As a side note, don't you think everyone should have to come out? Why is straight the default? Everyone should have to declare one way or another, and it should be this big awkward thing whether you're straight, gay, bi, or whatever. Just saying.

It's not that bikini waxing is a foreign concept to me, but . . . I mean, I guess it kind of is. Like, it's one of those girl habits that's so far beyond me, it makes me feel like a different species. Do boys require hairless vaginas? Is this a known thing?

And at least a dozen straight kids make a point of telling me that they support me. One girl even confirms that Jesus still loves me.

Of all fuckin' days"
"Okay, please don't say fuckin'."
She shoots me a self-conscious glance. "I thought we liked cussing."
"We love cussing. But we say the fucking g. I don't want to hear that apostrophe, Mom.

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If someone says I'm sad, or asks me what's wrong, or tells me not to cry, it's like my body hears: NOW CRY. Like a command, even if I'm not actually sad.

Everybody deserves a great love story.

That has to be the best part of being in love - the feeling of having a home in someone else's brain.

It's just hard to believe in the concept of Molly-With-a-Boyfriend.

A dementor," I say. "What in God's holy name is that?" "A dementor? From Harry Potter?" "Well, put your hood back, for the love of Jesus. And who are you supposed to be?" "Kim Kardashian," says Leah, just completely deadpan. Garrett looks confused. "Tohru from Fruits Basket.

Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam.

And me being jealous of how a girl like Abby could move here and choose to befriend you out of everyone, and you have so many friends already, and I don't think you even get what a big deal that is. ,.. I'm just saying that it seems like it's so easy for you, and you should know you're actually really lucky.
... You deserve it completely. You're an awesome dude, Spier and it was cool getting to know you. If I could do it again, I would have blackmailed you into being my friend and left it at that.

Same first name as a president and an obscure comic book character. Half-Jewish. Excellent grammar. Easily nauseated. Likes Reese's and Oreos (i.e. not an idiot). Divorced parents. Big brother to a fetus. Dad lives in Savannah. Dad's an English teacher. Mom's an epidemiologist.
The problem is, I'm beginning to realize I hardly know anything about anyone. I mean I generally know who's a virgin. But I don't have a clue whether most people's parents are divorced, or what their parents do for a living. I mean, Nick's parents are doctors. But I don't know what Leah's mom does, and I don't even know what the deal is with her dad, because Leah never talks about him. I have no idea why Abby's dad and brother still live in DC. And these are my best friends. I've always thought of myself as nosy, but I guess I'm just nosy about stupid stuff.
It's actually really terrible, now that I think about it.

And you know what? I'm pretty much done with this construct of 'virginity' which I'm sure you think applied to hetero vaginal sex." ... "Why would that be considered more intimate than oral? Like why do you get to decide what makes something intimate

And you notice things and listen to things, but not in a nosy way. In a real way.

Sometimes it seems like everyone knows who I am except me.

I don't get how people walk through life with all their windows wide open.

Why is straight the default?

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.

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I guess that's any relationship. You start with nothing and maybe end with everything.

And even though I'm looking in from the outside, I get closer with every step.

I like no endings. I like things that don't end.

He talked about the ocean between people. And how the whole point of everything is to find a shore worth swimming to.

I mean, that's my family. Everything's a freaking secret, because everything's a big deal. Everything is like coming out" -Simon

Can ambiguous social situations kindly go fuck themselves?

I walk in just as the bell is ringing, and I'm in a serious daze. It's lucky that my hands seem to know my locker combination, because my brain has checked out. People talk to me, and I nod along, but absolutely nothing penetrates.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Jan 7 at 7:23 AM
Subject: Re: Really?
On the Tumblr-you mean creeksecrets? .....
But I really don't think I'm wrong.
Jacques a dit. Right?
-Blue

So, 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.

Then her hand brushed close to mine, and my organs rearranged themselves.

We all talk a big game like the universe is actually setting us up for something epic, and then everything ends. If we were all just a little more realistic, we wouldn't keep losing people.

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.

Here's the thing: I'm used to being told I have a pretty face. Or pretty hair, or pretty eyes. But it's different, being called beautiful. Just beautiful, without conditions.

I think I hate the concept of needing space. What it really means is that the person is mad at you, or hates you, or doesn't give a shit about you. They just don't want to admit it.

I want to hold your hand, I say softly. Because we're in public. Because I don't know if he's out.
"So hold it," he says.
And I do.

Because there's this invisible line, and on one side are people like Garrett and Abby and Nick and every musician ever. People who go to parties and drink and don't get wasted off of one beer. People who have had sex and don't think it's a huge deal.
On the other side of the line are people like Leah and me.
But the one thing that makes it weirdly better is knowing that Blue is one of us.

Should I be looking in the halls for guys in yarmulkes? Yes, I looked up how to spell that. And your people are very creative, phonetically speaking.

But it's not quite so raw. You know, when you're seventeen, everything feels like the end of the world. Or the beginning of the world. And that's an awesome thing.

She has the kind of mouth that always rests in a faint smile, and she smells a little like French toast.

I catch a sudden glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. It's the weirdest thing. My hair is unbrushed. I'm wearing what may actually be one of Nadine's maternity shirts. And pajama pants. And there's also a spot of toothpaste in the corner of my mouth.
But for the first time in maybe ever, I feel really beautiful.

I believe in love at first sight. Fate, the universe, all of it. But not how you're thinking. I don't mean it in the 'our souls were split and you're my other half forever and ever' sort of way. I just think you're mean to meet some people. I think the universe nudges them into your path. Even on random Monday afternoons in July. Even at the post office.

I'm too busy trying not to be in love with someone who isn't real.

I just need more time with me, I think. To really believe in my worth without anyone's help.

It is definitely annoying that straight (and white, for that matter) is the default, and that the only people who have to think about their identity are the ones who don't fit that mold. Straight people really should have to come out, and the more awkward it is, the better. Awkwardness should be a requirement.

I don't get why that's so bad. Why shouldn't I want to be with someone who makes me feel worthy? Someone who wants to be with me for the long run?

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.

There shouldn't even be a default.

teachers think they get to dictate what you think about. It's not enough if you just sit there quietly and let them teach. It's like they think they have a right to control your mind.

I'm on the toilet at the 9:30 Club and I'm wondering how mermaids pee.

Abby Suso is singlehandedly reclaiming eye crinkles for our generation.

I can't help it. I'm a Slytherin."

And I'm the worst kind of Slytherin. I'm the kind who's so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can't even function. I'm the Draco from some shitty Drarry fic that the author abandoned after four chapters.

But maybe this isn't how life works. Maybe it's all about people coming into your life for a little while and you take what they give you and use it on your next friendship or relationship. And if you're lucky, maybe some people pop back in after you thought they were gone for good.

Friendship is like that. I guess it's not always about common ground.

You don't get to say it's not a big thing. This is a big fucking thing, okay? This was supposed to be - this is mine. I'm supposed to decide when and where and who knows and how I want to say it." Suddenly, my throat gets thick. "So, yeah, you took that from me.

It's weird, because Blue's emails used to be this extra thing that was separate from my actual life. But now I think maybe the emails are my life. Everything else sort of feels like I'm slogging through a dream.

And we're kissing like it's breathing.

This is what a mess I am. I can't write a two-word text without losing my shit.

Maybe it would be different if we lived in New York, but I don't know how to be gay in Georgia.

Hey, you're kind of adorable.
Hey. So are you.
There's a soft knock on my door.
One sex! Someone's here.
OMG, YOU PERVY IPHONE. Sec. Not sex.
TOO LATE! he writes. Three dots. Does this count as sexting?
I think so?

I get locked into a cycle of not speaking. It's like every time I think of something awesome to say, I rehearse it in my head so many times, I forget whether I've said it out loud yet. And I think it goes without saying that awesome one-liners are decidedly less awesome when you repeat them by accident. Better not to risk it.

There's this palpable energy in the air. It's the kind of night where strangers start hugging and everyone's drunk and loud and happy just to be in the middle of all of this. I bet people will remember today, even when they're old. I bet I will, too.

And I'm the worst kind of Slytherin, I'm the kind who's so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can't even function.

I'm used to the other kind of party. The kind where you get to someone's house and their mom shows you down to the basement, and there's junk food and Apples to Apples and a bunch of people randomly singing. Maybe some people playing video games.

Wow, is that Katniss making out with Yoda?

I feel irrelevant. I hate that.

And you know what? You don't get to say it's not a big thing. This is a big fucking thing, okay? This was supposed to be - this is mine. I'm supposed to decide when and where and who knows and how I want to say it.

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

It's funny, because you always think the hard part is meeting someone the first time. It's not. It's the second time, because you've already used up all the obvious topics of conversation. And even if you haven't, it's strange and heavy-handed to introduce random conversational topics at this stage in the game. Hi, Reid. Let's converse about topics. HOW MANY SIBLINGS DO YOU HAVE? WHAT BOOKS DO YOU LIKE?

There are some socks that shouldn't be washed by your mom.

The way I feel about him is like a heartbeat -- soft and persistent, underlying everything.

It's strange, because in reality, I'm not the leading guy. Maybe I'm the best friend. I guess I didn't really think of myself as interesting until I was interesting to Blue. So I can't tell him. I'd rather not lose him.

Emotional blue balls. That's what it feel like. It's being handed everything you've ever longed for, only for it to slip through your fingers. And there's no way to fix it. Nothing you can do but slink toward the kitchen counter in a full-body mope.

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

And cranking Sufjan Stevens at top volume doesn't solve anything, which is probably why people don't crank Sufjan Stevens.

A girl gets up from her corner table, wiping it down with napkins, and before I can charge to see if she's leaving, two vultures--excuse me, dudes in suits on their lunch break--swarm in and take the table.

Okay. I have a crush. But it's not like having a crush on some random musician or actor or Harry freaking Potter. This is the real deal. It has to be. It's almost debilitating.

Perfect! You guys are the same age. I bet you have a lot in common."
Classic adult logic. Reid and I are vaguely the same age, so of course we're basically soul mates. It's like horoscopes. Somehow I'm supposed to believe that I'm similar in some meaningful way to every single person born on my birthday. Or every single Sagittarius. I mean, I barely have anything in common with Cassie, and we were born six minutes apart.

It's just a lot of me. Way too much of me.

Never say never," Arthur says. "Right?" So much hope hangs in one word. "Right," I say. "Never know what the universe has planned for us." I don't know what we have planned for us. What if there's a do-over down the line for us? What if we end up in the same city again and pick up where we left off? What if we go as far as we once hoped we would, and boom, happy ending for us? But what if this is it for us? What if we never get to kiss again? What if we're there for each other's big moments, but we aren't at the heart of those big moments anymore? What if the universe always wanted us to meet and stay in each other's lives forever as best friends? What if we rewrite everything we expect from happy endings? Or . . . What if we haven't seen the best us yet?

I want to know the real world better. Not just the ones I make up or the ones I play with on Sims. But right now I just feel lonely and unwanted in the real world.

But sorry, he's not good at being a best friend when he's someone's boyfriend.

There's just something terrifying about admitting you like someone. In a way, it's actually easier when there's no chance of anything happening. But there's this threshold where things suddenly become possible. And then your cards are on the table. And there you are, wanting, right out in the open.

I bring the leftovers to rehearsal, and Ms. Albright lets us have a cake picnic on the stage. And by cake picnic, I mean drama kids hunched over the box like vultures shoveling cake by the fistful.

It's like my throat's caving in on itself. But I have to channel my inner New Yorker - cool and nonchalant. I shoot him a tentative grin. Deep Breath. "That's a big package."
And... shit.
The words tumblr out. "I don't mean package. Just. Your box. Is big." I hold my hands apart to demonstrate. Because apparently that's the way to prove it's not an innuendo. By spreading my hands out dick-measuringly.
Box Boy furrows his brow.
"Sorry. I don't... I swear I don't usually comment on the size of other guys' boxes."
He meets my eyes and smiles, just a little. "Nice tie," he says.

Is that a space?
No, it's a hydrant.

God. There's definitely some tiny invisible asshole punching me in the lungs. And winding up my heart to hyperspeed, and using my stomach like a trampoline.

She probably thinks Troye Sivan's songs are about girls.

I don't know how people do this. How Blue did this. Two words. Two freaking words, and I'm not the same Simon anymore.

I've never understood the appeal of drinking. It's not like liquor tastes good. I mean, I know it's not about that. It's about feeling loose and unstoppable. Simon described it to me once. He said drinking lets you say and do things without filtering or overthinking. But I don't get how that's a good thing

But I have to channel my inner New Yorker--cool and nonchalant.

It's the first time I've said those words out loud. I pause with my hands on the steering wheel, waiting to feel something extraordinary. The light turns green.

Am I the worst person?"
"Well, no," says Simon. "That would be Voldemort.

Nope." Abby grins. "This is confidential."
"My ass is confidential."
"Let's hope so.

But there's this thing I feel when I meet another Jewish person in the wild. It's like a secret invisible high five.

I shut down right there because we've been here before, after Dylan broke up with Harriett. Being Harriett's friend was weird for Dylan, and me trying to be Hudson's friend was weird for Arthur. But maybe this isn't how life works. Maybe it's all about people coming into your life for a little while and you take what they give you and use it on your next friendship or relationship. And if you're lucky, maybe some people pop back in after you thought they were gone for good. Like Hudson and Harriett.