How can seven lousy letters suddenly sound so different? Maybe that’s because in the past five months, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually heard Owen say it. I didn’t realize how strange and misshapen it sounds on Owen’s lips until now. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You’re the least boring person I know.” He bites his lower lip before adding, “As long as you’re not around Tristan.” You pretend to be this quiet, demure, agreeable, boring person.” “But around him,” he goes on, “it’s like you’re on Mute. I try to swallow it down but it lodges itself somewhere in my windpipe. You get jealous.”Īn invisible rock forms in my throat. You are one of the most unique, crazy, quirky, passionate people I know.

He should like you for who you already are. “You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t have to do this. I’m going home.īut before I can take a single step, Owen spins around again, his face all flushed, his eyes narrowed. “It’s the new me,” I argue, but the rationale feels weak and thin on my lips. “Oh no? What are you wearing?” He gestures to my skirt. Someone you think he wants to hang out with. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Where did this come from? What happened to the kind, funny, normal Owen I was waiting in line with a few seconds ago? How many faces does he have? You know I’m right.” Now he sounds downright angry. You’d suck it up and you’d get on the stupid ride.” “What if he asked you to ride the Ferris wheel with him? You’d do it, wouldn’t you? Without a moment’s hesitation. Owen’s tone has an unexpected edge to it. “What if he asked you?” The question comes out of nowhere.

A week of mondays by jessica brody