There was a worrying slither and plopping sound. My left boob felt worryingly light.
I looked down at Mike’s plate. There appeared to be two chicken breasts. One a lot more silicone-y than the other.
There was deathly silence.
Everyone was staring at me. Or more specifically my left boob. Or sudden lack thereof.
This was definitely the first time this many people had noticed my boobs and contrary to my expectations I was not enjoying it.
My chicken filet ex-boob-enhancer slithered down slightly into Mike’s gravy.
‘OH MY GOD, IT’S A BOOBIE!’ he screamed.
“And during, I realized that the labels didn’t matter, because when two people feel that sort of pull toward each other, it just works, and the only label that mattered was that I was in love. Totally, fully, ecstatically.”
“I hate this feeling. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.”
I stare at Vin in amazement. He sounds exactly like Ryan when he’s talking to Crenshaw. Did I miss something in my meager childhood? Was there a book I was supposed to read? The Complete Idiot’s Guide to King Arthur’s Court? It seems like silly me has been reading any survival manual or How To book I could get my hands on while all these Lost Boys were reading Lunacy: A Visitor’s Guide.