98 Quotes by Victoria Scott

Two years ago, I was just your average seventeen-year-old guy. That’s a lie. I’ve never been average. I look like a movie star and move like an athlete.

Never mind that he got detention for flipping off half the student body.

Then again, maybe that’s the definition of being screwed up. That we’re so damaged that regardless of what the other person says they’ve done, we just shrug and say, Hey, as long as you don’t leave me, we’re square.

When you’re dealt a crappy situation, you think to yourself, At least it can’t get any worse than this. And then life.

As Cotton holds the door open for me, and our bodies grow closer, I notice how much older he is than me. At least eight years, I’d guess. Too old, and yet young enough for me to admire the single dimple in his left cheek – a sharp contrast to his angular face.

Cotton says he’s been in the race for two and a half months. Enough time to cover the jungle, desert, and ocean, and arrive safely at base camp. But then why, when I inspect his dyed black hair, don’t I see blond roots that reflect that same story? It’s something I’ve thought before but never really dwelled on.

If Guy is on the yacht, then the yacht is the best place to be. He knows it. I know it. The iguana probably knows it. But I find myself hesitating. Why am I hesitating?

But when Cotton touches me like this, the way Guy hasn’t in days, I find myself not caring what his reasons are.

You could have won this race when you were thirteen years old,” she says evenly. “Those other jokers don’t know what it means to hunger.” Her.