"May I see you again?" he asked. There was an endearing nervousness in his voice.
I smiled. “Sure.”
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Patience, grasshopper," I counseled. "You don’t want to seem overeager."
"Right, that’s why I said tomorrow," he said. I want to see you again tonight. But I’m willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said.
"You don’t even know me," I said. I grabbed the book from the center console. "How about I call you when I finished this?"
"But you don’t even have my phone number," he said.
"I strongly suspect you wrote it in the book."
He broke out into that goofy smile. “And you say we don’t know each other.”
_ John Green
Since the first appearances I thought: I like this girl and then I like this boy and I literally love their actions and reactions were them individualized or collective, alone or interacting with themselves or with others, and I’m laughing but I know that every laugh or shout now will become a tear or a sob at the end of the book. And at least, at the end of the second chapter and start of the third, I guess I do not like this book simply because I’m going to like it very much for my own good. #nostradamusfeelings