Death, Dickinson, and the demented life of Frenchie Garcia

Frenchie Garcia is an only child/artist/poetry lover growing up near a cemetery, so you can imagine how her psyche takes a turn for the even worse when a boy she's crushed on for four years turns up dead early one February morning. On top of all that Frenchie's best friend chose that February to fall for-real-this-time in love and so leaves Frenchie, who, having been rejected from art school is a high school graduate with nowhere to go, increasing alone to wallow. It's not as fun as it sounds. The book is meh.

I thought this was funny, though:

After a while, the buzz of Joel's meaningless chatter finally stops and I guess he takes the hint that my apparent disinterest stems from genuine disinterest.