Do you like Cam?” the girl asked me casually. I wondered how she knew him—I thought he’d been a nobody just like me.
“I barely even know him,” I told her, and her face relaxed. She was relieved. I recognized that look in her eyes—dreamy and hopeful. It must have been the way I looked when I used to talk about Conrad, used to try to think of ways to insert his name into conversation. It made me sad for her, for me.

Autore: Jenny Han