The wind rattles the panes, and the lights buzz softly in the hall. He sleeps soundly.How long has it been since he's had a decent night's rest? There's another uncomfortable tug on my heart.Why do I...
The translator, no matter how true he thinks he's staying to the text, still brings his own life experiences and opinions to the decisions he makes. Maybe not consciously, but every time a choice is m...
The towers are illuminated in blue and white lights. They're more disjointed than the buildings in Paris;they have no relationship. They're just stupid rectangles designed to be taller, better than ot...
The room is full of adult Honeywells talking about the things that Honeywells always talk about, which is to say everything, horses and houses and God and grouting, tanning salons and—of course—theate...
Something that would’ve happened in a year anyway, once I left for college, but that no matter how many days or months or years I’ve yearned for it, I am still not prepared for when it actually happen...
Someday, their story would be a chapter in one of those sleazy, mass-market, true-crime paperbacks that were shelved in the cobwebbed corners of used bookstores—the types of paperbacks that boasted ab...
Seriously, I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.
Put this on your list of things to know: the combination of tinsel, baby angel wings, and manger hay burns like weed at a Miley Cyrus concert.
Lola? Cricket is on his knees at the side of my bed. I feel it. I'm here, he whispers. You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here.
It's easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why we like something.
Is it possible that I'm worthy of being loved by someone whom I love?
Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.
Is it possible for a home to be a person and not a place? Brigette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.
I've taken you this far. I can take you that much farther.
I suddenly understand why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer. My veins throb and my heart explodes...
I like stories of adventure. Especially if there’s some kind of disaster involved.The eyebrow remains arched.I laugh. I read the ones with happy endings, too.Josh gestures towards my shelves. You read...
I didn't mean to mess things up, I don't know what got into me-He rubs his temples. Please don't apologize.It's not your fault.But if I hadn't dragged you out to dance-Anna. Etienne speaks slowly. You...
I collapse in bed and fall asleep with me other hand clasped around the blue rubber band. And I dream about blue eyes and blue nails and first-kiss lips dusted with blue sugar crystals.
He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, its been crossed off. There's only a black box. Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn't know...
Har. Bloody. Har.He smiles. Oh, I see. Known me less than a day and teasing me about my accent. What's next? Care to discuss the state of my hair? My height? My trousers?Trousers. Honestly.