Sally Thorne

Hating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them.

Both love and hate are mirror versions of the same game—and you have to win. Why? Your heart and your ego.

Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person.

I have a theory. Hating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them.

They’re flattered that I remember, and reply with smiles. I guess it’s true that I’m always observing, listening, and collecting trivia. But not for any nefarious purpose. It’s mainly because I’m a lonely loser.

Night, night, sweetie,” they chime. I can hear Mom say sadly “Why won’t she come home—” as Dad

clicks the End button.

Joshua Templeman is going to spray his coffee out his nose when I walk in. I don’t know why I want him to—but I do.

“This is the part of the dream where you smile, Josh.”

If he were here, he’d look at me, and when our eyes connected a flashbulb of energy would pop inside me.

He turns me a little in his arms, and when he holds me close again, he’s rubbing my shoulder like I’m the one who needs comfort.