“Obviously, /your/ high school is a lot more lenient about strangers just /walking in/ and rummaging about.”
“I checked the campus library, I’m /right here/, I might as well look in this one too. Fine. Will you give me a lift to the town library?” [Oh my god. Seriously? Up until right /now/ she had never believed that southerners were more polite or hospitable than anyone else, but this boy has serious sarcasm issues.]
Don’t own a car. Don’t own a license. Can’t help. Now, if you need help hot-wiring a motorcycle, I know a girl. [At this point it was as if he were playing a game with himself—notching up the level of how infuriating he could be with each sentence.]
“Are you good for anything? Besides your obvious talent with your tongue.” [So very tempting to just call him on it, but time is running out. Time is running out terrifyingly fast.]
[One deliberate glance up and down that long body, very cool, just to see if there are any buttons there to be pushed.]