There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.

Maybe it was true, and being a girl could be about interest rates and skinny jeans, riding bikes and wearing pink. Not about any one thing, but everything.

I mean, it's not surprising, really. Once you love something, you always love it in some way. You have to. It's, like, part of you for good.

That first love. And the first one who breaks your heart. For me, they just happen to be the same person.

If you could just be nice, then you wouldn't have to worry about arguments at all. but being nice wasn't as easy as it seemed, especially when the rest of the world could be so mean.

I've always written in first person. It gives the readers more insight.

This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke aloud.