Sometimes I go to the cemetery with one of my best friends, who had a crush on a boy who liked red, who was killed at 18 by someone who liked blue.

The most likely scenario, frankly, is that your friend can read you like a book but prefers to ignore your crush.

At school I had crushes on girls, though I didn't talk about them or act on them: I knew not to.

For Lucy, it's not naivety; she has a perverse fascination, allowing herself to be exploited and seeing how far she can push that.

His infatuation blinded him to her faults.