Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn't read, because reading didn't feel the same.

South of Somewhere and north of Nowhere.

Maybe it needed to be broken. Sometimes things have to break before you can fix them.

I only assumed those dresses were costumes, based on the garish nature of the plumage.

Good for you, Ethan." That's what my poor mama would've said. Ma'am.

There are no coincidences.

Even in the slippery blur of heat and arms and noise, Lena affected everything in her wake, a pull as powerful as the moon to the tides, or the planets to the sun. I was caught in her orbit, even as she pulled away from mine.