She wasn't feeling nothing. She was feeling too much. She was blocking it all out. That was a survival skill, and her still-beating heart was proof that it worked.

But my hands are in the right place." "Heart," I corrected. "Your heart's in the right place." "Yeah, but my hands are in an even better place." And so they were.

Sophie glanced from me to Sabine, then back, scowling. "I'm not scared of her. I can handle myself." "Yeah, and hissing kittens think they're badass too," Sabine said.

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

And anyway, considering that her mother dies and her boyfriend's spending a small fortune to get high off someone else's bad breath, I'd say Sophie's next in line for therapy.

You know, honey, Natalie's expecting her second." I arched my eyebrows at my mother, not following the change of subject. "Second what? Mortgage? Conviction? Chance at life?" "Baby of course. Her second baby. The doctor says this one's a girl." I laughed, genuinely amused that my mother thought it should have been so obvious. "Yeah. Well, I bet Natalie can't drop a Stray with a Powerhouse Right Hook.

Lit majors are not known for watching where they're going; most of us walk with our eyes in a book instead of on the path ahead.