His eyebrows drew together. He was perilously close to unibrow; I guess nobody had held him down and administered a good plucking to the caterpillar climbing across his forehead.
I went to the entrance to the restroom, where the hallway did a sharp bend so nobody could peek into the girls' pee-palace.
I thought I'd pay you a visit, my dear. Since you're so interesting." My mouth shifted into high gear, leaving my brain behind. "You know, you're the second guy in a few days to call me that. You should be more creative.
And now here he was in my kitchen. Smelling like apple pies and looking at me with a direct seriousness that made him even cuter. The bruising spreading up the side of his face had halted, and under it he was very pretty. Not jock-pretty, or the hurtful kind of pretty that tells you a guy is too busy taking care of his royal self to think about you.
I'm getting really tired of bleeding. Someone stop the world, I want to get off.
First you find out what you have, Dad would say. Then you figure out how to make it work for what you need, 'cause you don't get what you want. You get just what you have and no more.
I got a washed out version of Mom’s curls and a better copy of Dad’s blue eyes, The rest of me, I guess, is up for grabs. Except maybe Gran’s nose, but she could have been trying to make me feel better. I’m no prize. Most girls go through a gawky stage, but I’m beginning to think mine will be a lifelong thing. It doesn’t bother me too much. Better to be strong than pretty and useless. I’ll take a plain girl with her head screwed on right over a cheerleader any day.
And ordering me around is exactly the wrong way to make me do what you want.
I just . . . knew, the way you know how to breathe or to pull your hand back from a hot stove.
The only place their voices were left was in my head. It was better than being alone but it was so, so lonely.
I wasn't sure if the word boys should mean dim or incomprehensible. I was hovering between the two, with a healthy dose of testosterone-poisoned.
He wiped away the tears, tenderly, and I forgot to weep as he told me silently everything I always wanted to hear.
He laughed. The laugh could strip the skin off an elephant in seconds.
It truly sucks to doubt your friends when you only have one or two of them, I realized.
Graves: Are you skipping? Off to a good start. Dru Anderson: I don’t want to deal with it today. Graves: Okay. I know a place to go. You shoot pool? I’m Graves. Dru Anderson: I know. Dru. Graves: Dru. You’re new. Couple of weeks, right? Welcome to Foley.
The smell of apple pies didn't quite fill the house, but it was there, a thread under everything else. It was kind of hard to take Christophe seriously when he smelled like baked goods. I wondered if other djampjir smelled like Hostess Twinkies and sniggered to myself.
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