My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my body slicing into pieces.
Mr. Freeman sighs. No imagination. What are you thirteen? Fourteen? You've already let them beat your creativity out of you!
Maybe your son didn't get that job because he's not good enough. Or he's lazy. Or the other guy was better than him, no matter what his skin color. I think the white people who have been here for two...
Make it bend — trees are flexible, so they don’t snap. Scar it, give it a twisted branch — perfect trees don’t exist. Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting. Be the tree.
I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.
It's an antique mirror with little waves on the surface of it. Sometimes it can make you look like an elegant princess trapped in time. Other times, it makes you look like a pig.
It is a pretend question, one he asked so he could give the answer. I relax. This is like when my father complains about his boss. The best thing to do is to stay awake and blink sympathetically.
I would be lucky to get an invitation to my own funeral, with my reputation.
I wish I had cancer. I will burn in hell for that, but it's true.
I was good at digging holes. It was the rest of life I sucked at.
I needed to hear the world but didn't want the world to know I was listening.
I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.
I can't let me hear this, but it's too late. The facts sneak in and stab me.
I am the space between my thighs, daylight shining through.
I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world.
I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world. The tiny elf dancer became a wooden doll whose strings were jerked by people not paying attention. I spun out of control. Ea...
I am almost a real girl the entire drive home. I went to a diner. I drank hot chocolate and ate french fries. Talked to a guy for a while. Laughed a couple of times. A little like ice-skating for the...
Hurry up, Gracie called after him. I want to talk to dead people.
How did she do all of these things?She was bold, brave, stubborn, and smart. And Sarah Hale had a secret weapon…When Sarah saw something she didn’t like, she picked up her pen and wrote about it. She...
Her eyes were tired, but we're seniors. All seniors have dead eyes.