"Same thing."
He reached out, turning up the corners of my mouth. It was one of his oldest tricks; no matter what, it made me smile. "No pouting, Bells, remember?"
No Pouting was a rule Johnny and Owen had made up one summer. I think I was eight or nine. The thing was, it only applied to me. They even put a sign up on my bedroom door. I tore it down, of course, and I ran and told Lily and my mother. That night I got seconds on dessert, I remember. Anytime I acted the slightest bit sad or unhappy, one of the boys would start yelling, "No pouting. No pouting." And, okay, maybe I did pout a lot, but it was the only way I could ever get my way. In some ways it was even harder being the only girl back then. In some ways not.
That night I slept in Cam's hoodie. It was stupid and kind of sappy
