Magnus speed down the twenty-five mile a hour street going fifty. He fixed his hair with one hand, and held a cigarette with another.
"Your smoking?" I ask, holding to the edge of the seat and my oxygen tank. He laughs, looking at me with those attractively weird eyes.
"It's a metaphor," he says, quoting The Fault in Our Stars. "You out the thing killing you, between your teeth, but don't give it the power to kill you."
"I know. I was forced to watch it when my sister, adoptive brother, and their dates needed someone without a heart to drive home."
"That's mean," says Magnus, throwing the unused butt into traffic, and pulled out a bottle of sparkling purple nail polish.
"Yes, but I don't find depression in things of death of a hot boy. Besides, the ending was predictable." Magnus started to coat his right hand the polish, balancing the bottle on the back of his hand.
"Your quoting Pitch Perfect," said Magnus.
"You quoted The Fault in Our Stars," I yelled toward him, as he jumped the curb, almost hitting some Girl Scouts.
"They deserve it," said Magnus, almost like he read my mind, "always trying to sell you cookies no one wants, but buys them anyway because their cute."
"True." We were stuck in uncomfortable silence, unless you count the shrieks I let out every time he almost hit a baby carriage.
"So," he said, turning toward me, a smirk in his beautiful face, "you gay?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation. Why did I do it? Maybe because I may have a crush on him.
"Great," he says, pulling into a short driveway. He stops instantly, sending me flying into the dashboard.
"Welcome to my Brooklyn loft."
I hate Brooklyn.
YOU ARE READING
City of Faulted Stars
Teen FictionAlec Lightwood is an eighteen year old boy that has lung cancer. His parents are always out of the country for work, and he still has to watch his three younger siblings. But when his younger sister, Isabelle, forces him to go to a support group, he...
