Blank-slate friendships were thin and temperamental. She knew that. There was no history there to cement people together, for better or worse.

The area was encompassed in a bubble of warm, fragrant steam from the funnel cake deep fryers. It smelled like sweet vanilla cake batter you licked off a spoon.

Everything had felt so precarious since her mother's death, like she was walking on a bridge made of paper.

She accepted it from then on. Books liked her. Books wanted to look after her.

I've never seen you hide from anyone before. He must do something crazy to you.

He might be tall enough to see into tomorrow, but he hadn’t looked there in a long, long time. He’d forgotten how bright it was. So bright he could hardly stand it.

How we see the world changes all the time. It all depends on our mood.