He flipped it open and put a cigarette between his lips. “Are you serious?” I asked.
“You think that’s cool? Oh, my God, you just ruined the whole thing.”
“Which whole thing?” he asked, turning to me. The cigarette dangled unlit from the unsmiling corner of his mouth.
The whole thing where a boy who is not unattractive or unintelligent or seemingly in any way unacceptable
stares at me and points out incorrect uses of literality and compares me to actresses and asks me to watch a movie at his house.
But of course there is always a hamartia and yours is that oh, my God,
even though you HAD FREAKING CANCER you give money to a company in exchange for the chance to acquire YET MORE CANCER.
Oh, my God. Let me just assure you that not being able to breathe? SUCKS. Totally disappointing. Totally.”
“A hamartia?” he asked, the cigarette still in his mouth. It tightened his jaw.
He had a hell of a jawline, unfortunately. “A fatal flaw,” I explained, turning away from him.
I stepped toward the curb, leaving Augustus Waters behind me, and then I heard a car start down the street.
It was Mom. She’d been waiting for me to, like, make friends or whatever.
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