I think I'm too lazy a writer to do something like historical fiction. You have to do so much research. I just write what I know.

I just stood there, looking at her. My head was spinning, my mouth dry, and all I could think about was that I wanted to go someplace safe, someplace I could be alone and okay, and that this was impossible. My old life had changed and my new one was still in progress, altering by the second. There was nothing, nothing to depend on. And why was I surprised?

Because you have to just go with the flow. Your life is not your own, with people coming in and out all the time. You get mellow because you have to.

I always say that teenagers are the first to know if you're pandering to them.

The true story...is the realization that no time in your life is ever perfect, that even the best memories have cracks you might not see.

I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it would make it go away once and for all.

Let me guess,” Eli said, his voice that low, even timbre, as always. “Drinking from kegs also falls under outdoor activity.” I just looked at him, standing there in jeans and the same blue hoodie he’d had on the first time I met him. Maybe it was the embarrassment, which had been bad enough before I had an audience, but I was instantly annoyed. I said, “Are we outside?” He glanced round, as if needing to confirm this. “Nope.” “Then no.” I turned my attention back to the keg.