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.

She was so Southern that she cried tears that came straight from the Mississippi, and she always smelled faintly of cottonwood and peaches.

If we measured life in the things that almost happened, we wouldn't get anywhere.

She never thought she was good at making friends. But maybe she was just trying to be friends with the wrong people.

Being left makes you doubt your ability to keep people, even friends.

Some people don't know how to fall in love, like not knowing how to swim. They panic first when they jump in. Then they figure it out.

It was early evening when they walked outside, the sky the color of pink lemonade.