I know I shouldn't be into her. I know it's so immensely wrong for me to be capable of staring at those perfectly plush lips, the color of blood, or to feel physical pain at not being able to run my finger along her arm and around her shoulder, down into her collarbone. Believe me, I get that it's insanely bizarre to want to cup that adorable face and hold her flushed cheeks in my palms, stare into those milky eyes, and kiss her. To want to kiss her gently and softly and hungrily all at the same time. To want to feel her glossy skin against mine. I know it's wrong to want Brooke.
Boarding school. Most kids would love the idea of getting away from their parents, being able to share a dorm with a stranger you can have makeovers with and mani-pedi's. They'd think of the boys they could date, the hot surfer-type maybe, and any rules at home no longer applied. You can be a rebel, start over, do whatever you want. But no. I don't want to go here. I had a life in Lyme. ...