He's just . . .” I tried, wanting to say “sweet” or “caring” or “funny”—because they're all totally true. But instead, I said, “He's just a normal boy.”
“Hmph,” Macey scoffed. “I know lots of normal boys.”
I looked at her. “I don't.

I felt Mr. Smith's pop bottle in my hand, and for a second I couldn't remember why I would be carrying such a thing. I know. I'm almost ashamed of it now—the fact that ten seconds with a boy had driven my mission from my mind. But I did look at it, and I did remember who I was—why I was there—and I knew it was time to forget about boys and trash cans and cats named Suzie; I remembered what was real and what was legend.

I could have lied. I could have fought. But desperate times call for desperate measures, so I took a chance and called upon a Gallagher Girl's weapon of last resort. I flirted

Give me everything you have," I told [Preston].
"Really, Cammie. I never knew you thought of me that way.

Sometime years before, I had dragged an old bean bag chair to that place. I watched Zach sink onto it, and then he pulled me down to lean against him. I felt his arms go around me, holding me tight.
I was safe.
I was warm.
I was home.

She thought she was only seeing him because she wanted to see him... It's a by-product of very dramatic kissing.