My fingers are awfully cooperative most of the time. If they refuse to tell Violet to fuck off, fine. Violet and I can be friends.
Ethan: You okay at home?
Violet: I'll be away soon enough.
Ethan: You talk to your parents?
Violet: A little. I should pack. Anything I need to keep in mind?
Ethan: It will be cold in Portland, Seattle, and Chicago. Rainy too.
Violet: Thanks. I'm not planning on doing much sightseeing.
Ethan: Fuck that. I'll show you around.
Violet: Maybe.
Ethan: It's been a long time. I'm not holding shit against you. The two of us can be friends.
Violet: We can?
Ethan: If you stop undressing me with your eyes.
Violet: Stop wearing tight t-shirts and jeans and we'll talk. And eyeliner—don't even think about wearing eyeliner.
Ethan: You described my stage getup.
Violet: Did I?
Ethan: You know you did.
Violet: I described your old stage getup. How should I know what you wear now? A lot of other things have changed. You could have grown out of eyeliner.
Ethan: Grown out of it?
Violet: Yeah.
Ethan: Cause it's for kids or some shit?
Violet: That's not what I meant.
Ethan: You always jumped me when I was wearing eyeliner.
Violet: Maybe.
Ethan: You really think you can sell this story about how it's something I'd grow out of?
Violet: I looked hot when I wore a hot pink bra under my seethrough top. It was still a phase I grew out of.
Ethan: Sorry I missed that.
Violet: I was 15, you perv!
Ethan: We're the same age.
Violet: Technicalities.
Ethan: You think I look hot in eyeliner.