The boy who does not send smileys

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 The person I dedicated this too deserves recognition for taking time to edit the first chapter. NOW, my other amazingly perfect and somewhat crazy friend Summer edited the one you see before you. They took the time to do it because I am lazy. Seriously, it's a thing guys. So the next chapter is so totally going to her, but, take the time and fan them both.

Either way, you won't regret it ♥

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Rule#80: Appearances somewhat matter.

Beauty will eternally be what lies inside.

But, if your guy doesn’t care about the necessities,

He isn’t someone who's worth a date.

If he can’t even bathe, brush his hair, or find time to put on deodorant...

Then what is he doing with his life?

Just imagine what his bedroom looks like.

“Marshmallows?”

“Marshmallows.”

“Peanut butter?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Bagel?”

“Ba-wait, why in the hell would you need a bagel.”

With one hand around the end of a bagel, I hold it up at Madison as she grins evilly from the other side of the counter.

On two plates she has a neat, high stack of chocolate, marshmallows, and lastly, peanut butter. At first I thought this was going to be a nice little game of making s'mores, excluding the fire, but now this has transformed into a game  I can’t get out of.

I mean, bagels?

Before I can knock the bagel goodness out of her reach, she leans over the counter and snags it triumphantly. I watch, mortified, as she squeezes more chocolate on top of the peanut butter before pressing the bagel on top securely.

“That is so wrong.” I make a face at her snack  as she lifts it up and takes a big bite of it. On the counter, my own plate of concoction lays ontouched. By the end of the night it will end up in the garbage.

No one should have to eat that.

“I need this,” Madison states between a mouthful of marshmallows. “Firstly, we have school tomorrow. Secondly, we have to discuss your cold, cold soul.”

I lift myself with support from the marble surface of the counter and swing my feet back and forth, not liking the idea of discussing my cold cold soul.

“I do not have a cold soul,” I argue before reaching over and swiping my finger over the chocolate. I bring the goodness to my mouth the same moment Madison shoots me a dry look. “Let me get this right: You plan on breaking guy’s hearts to prove your theory...yet you’re saying it’s not bad?”

“You know what I don’t get?” I demand, feeling peeved upon this topic. Not at Madison, but  at society’s idea of what is right or not.This stupid notion that the moment I break a guy's heart, it’s some tragic thing. But when boys do it, especially when good looking boys do it, it’s suddenly hot.”

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