Becky Albertalli

I just think you’re meant to meet some people. I think the universe nudges them into your path.

Okay, real talk: I hate when people drop a random name like I’m supposed to magically know it.

Arthur used to talk about the characters like they were mutual friends.

Dylan wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Big Ben, we know the escape room is your big ploy to get locked in a room with me for an hour. You don’t need excuses, okay?”
“Dude, your girlfriend is right here.”
“Oh, please, get him off me for an hour,” she says.

Samantha shakes her head. “Why do I… why do I anything with you?”
“Because the D Machine is too irresistible.”
“Gross, man,” I say.
“Oh, that just stands for the Dylan Machine. I call my friend downstairs the—”
Samantha claps her hand over his mouth. A true hero of our times.

First Belvedere Castle and now this woman. It’s like the universe is flashing Arthur Seuss’s name in Broadway neon lights.

“My parents got married young,” Dylan says. “That all worked out.”
“Your mother hates your father,” Samantha says.
“She hates that he chews with his mouth open, never replaces the toilet paper roll, lies about his taxes, and wakes her up in the middle of the night to talk about his dreams before he forgets them. But she doesn’t hate him.”
I know his parents—there’s a little hate going on there.

This is every relationship. You start with nothing and maybe end with everything.

It’s my ultimate top-tier pie-in-the-sky dream job.

I mean, I liked to think Ben and I were lowkey obsessed with each other, too.