Maybe this is the secret to talking to boys--maybe you just have to be angry all the time.

Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.

like I am Alice in the Wonderland and have gotten too big for the room.

That was what her parents did not understand—and had never understood—about stories. Liza told herself storied as though she was weaving and knotting an endless rope. Then, no matter how dark or terrible the pit she found herself in, she could pull herself out, inch by inch and hand over hand, on the long rope of stories.

For the first time in my life I've done something for me and by choice and not because somebody told me it was good or bad.

I'm mesmerized by the way his fingers move confidently along her skin, as though her body is his to reat and touch and tend to. She was mine before she was yours: The words are there, unexpectedly, surging from my throat to my tongue. I swallow them back.

The first one, we’ll name Blue.