I envy what I fear and hate what I envy.

I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.

You really dug your own grave,” he mutters. “And I’m going to bury you in it.” “Say that louder,” I tell him, under my breath. “I dare you.

This, the language of deception, we both understand. We were born to it, along with the curses.

You are the only thing I have that is neither duty nor obligation, the only thing I chose for myself. The only thing I want.

Once, she made a boy come out of his house and kiss her under the streetlight. It was her first kiss. She thinks it was probably his, too. She never told him and she never, ever will.

He wondered whether growing up was learning that most stories turned out to be lies.