"Because I'm not brilliant." And now she was trying to shift off his lap and onto the couch next to him, where she'd be able to pull her knees up to her chest and be the self-conscious mess her heart clearly yearned to be. "Like, not as much as I wish I was." Because she was setting the bar too high for herself, probably. "Like, what I've already written of my paper sounds like it was done by a five-year-old with like, cognitive disabilities or something."

Not true. But she felt like it was.

"And I'm not even pretty enough to just get by on that, either."