Khanh, first of her name, mother of bunnies > Books: ya‎ (372)

Once again, my chest tightened, and there was that weird fluttering sensation that was like butterflies. But it couldn’t be butterflies. I did not

Once again, my chest tightened, and there was that weird fluttering sensation that was like butterflies. But it couldn’t be butterflies. I did not have butterflies over David Stark.

“So, Harper Jane Price. Are you ready to accept your destiny?”

His breath was coming out in short gasps, and there was a dark red stain spreading across his expansive belly. There was no doubt in my mind that he was dying.

“Look after him, okay?” he said, his eyes looking glazed again. “Make sure he’s...he’s safe.”

“I really can’t think of a worse choice,” he said, still smiling, “than the bimbo who wrote a paper on the history of shoes for my class.”

The sword was still poised in the air when I came to an abrupt stop and sunk the heel into his throat, right under his jaw.

Mr. Hall hadn’t been a superhero. He’d been a Paladin, and that was . . . different, right? And what—or who—had been his noble cause?
What was mine?

Under the picture of me and Bee, there was a smaller caption: Homecoming Queen misses crowning under mysterious circumstances. My eyes darted over the rest of the article as my heart started pounding. “...hiding in the boys’ room...violently ill...tension between the ‘Queen Bee’ and her underling, Bee Franklin...this reporter...”

Whatever the reason, my right hand shot up to slap David Stark across the face.
Half an inch from David’s cheek, my hand stopped in midair. And it wasn’t because I had some crisis of conscience, either. It was like my hand hit an invisible wall right by his head.

I withdrew my hand. “No, thank you.”
Saylor and David both stared.
“I appreciate your offer very much,” I continued. “But I’m afraid I have to refuse.”

“But you’re always arguing with him. Or talking about him. Or competing with him. And sometimes I wonder how you can be so obsessed with someone you supposedly hate.”

“I love you,” he said at last. “You know that. But it’s...it’s like we’re speaking two different languages most of the time. Harper.” He tugged on my hand. “If there’s something going on with you, you can tell me, okay?”

“You guys seemed pretty...intense yesterday,” Ryan said, dropping my hand.
“Yeah, we were intensely arguing over him writing that stupid article,” I said even as I had a sudden vision of me and David, laughing in his car. Hugging. God, we had hugged.

And the next time I did school stuff in the middle of the night, I just did it in my closet with the door locked. Honestly, what is wrong with this country when striving for excellence means you need antidepressants?

Ryan was a good guy. He always had been.

He lowered his head and kissed me, albeit pretty chastely. PDA is vile, and Ryan, being my Perfect Boyfriend, knows how I feel about it.

“Ladies,” Ryan said, nodding at Amanda, Abigail, and Mary Beth. “Let me guess. Y’all are...plotting world domination?”
“No,” Amanda told him, deadly serious. “We’re talking about Cotillion.”
“Ah, world domination, Cotillion. Same difference,” Ryan replied with an easy grin, and this time, all three girls giggled, even Amanda.

He and I had loathed each other since kindergarten. Heck, even before that. Mom says he’s the only baby I ever bit in daycare.

“I’m sure you’d hate to miss everyone’s felicitations.”
David had beaten me in the final round of our sixth-grade spelling bee with that word and now, all these years later, he still tried to drop it into conversation whenever he could.

For one horrifying second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I wasn’t really sure how I’d react if he did.
But it was only a hug. And if I maybe spent a second or two thinking that he actually smelled really nice, or that he was much more solid than he appeared, so what?

Still, I had to admit, yellow was a good color on him. It brought out the gold in his hair, and—
I stopped myself. The gold in his hair? Since when did I care about David.

“But, God, Harper, sometimes I feel like your whole life is a checklist, and I am way down at the bottom. And, you know, every once in awhile, you throw me a bone to keep me happy.”
I flinched at that, hard. Not only because it was insulting, but because it was way too close to the truth.

“Let me make sure I understand—you want me to lie to my dad, turn my back on my species, my people? Do you really expect me to trust an Ancient ove

“Let me make sure I understand—you want me to lie to my dad, turn my back on my species, my people? Do you really expect me to trust an Ancient over my own family?”
“No, but I hope you’ll surprise me.”
I fix my gaze on Jackson. “Consider it done.”

“But they aren’t like us. If you look closely you can see their skin is neither white nor brown, neither light nor dark. See,” she says, tapping the screen, “it’s almost golden."

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I’m in trouble, maybe even we’re in trouble, yet all I can think about is the way he just said my name. Ari. He says it like I’m more than just a girl who everyone recognizes but no one sees.

A single drop of liquid hits my lip, and reflexively I lick it away. My taste buds explode with flavor. A perfect mixture of sweet and sour, warm and cold.

It—he—hovers above me as light as air. A bright glow encircles him. His eyes are closed. A sweet smile rests on his perfect face.
My Ancient is Jackson Locke.

"Did you completely allow your feelings to overcome your logic?”
I grasp the wall to keep from falling.

I don’t know if Jackson overestimates the Ancients or underestimates us, but I do know they have abilities and advanced technology far beyond anything we’ve even considered.

The Australian Trinity has since been dissolved, thanks to the last leader being unable to have children to continue the legacy of the founding Australian leader.

"I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but at least wait until I can explain.” He bends down in front of me so we’re eye to eye. “Can I count on you to keep this a secret? Just please—”
“All right,” I say.

“A story? You are recording your horrors?”
“How am I to accurately write about something unless I have been a firsthand witness to

“A story? You are recording your horrors?”
“How am I to accurately write about something unless I have been a firsthand witness to it?”

It seems the stories I have been told were untrue. The streets of America are not paved with gold but with uneven stones.

A sense of unease fills my stomach as I stare up at what is to be my new home.
Dark and foreboding, it appears just as unwelcoming as the rest of Philadelphia.

I hurry out of bed and reach for the bucket. “Let me help you with that.”
“No, miss,” she scolds. “It isn’t yer place.”

“Practice makes perfect. It shall certainly take time to prove this with someone of your limited background.”
Dropping my arms, I feel an ache in my shoulders.
Clearly, my education is going to require a vast amount of practice.

Father takes another step closer. Deep lines mark his face. He looks almost as old as Grandpere. “She bowed like a man, for God’s sake. Her manners are sorely lacking, and until they have been improved, I shall not encourage her.”

MURDER AT RITTENHOUSE SQUARE.
POLICE FIND GRISLY SCENE OF DISMEMBERMENT
...the limbs had been torn asunder from the torso and the head cleaved from his neck. POLICE urge all women and children to take heed of this atrocity and to take special cautions.

Every muscle in my body has tightened and my hand shakes when I place it upon the doorknob. I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves, and just as I am about to turn the knob—

Someone grabs hold of me.

“Allan’s always a gentleman, that one,” Cook replies.
“He’s very different from his cousin, Edgar,” I say. “I’m amazed they are even related.”
The room instantly goes silent. Cook stares intently at her tea as Maddy and Johanna exchange glances.
“Just stay away from him, miss. Stay away. He’s a right nasty one.”

I did it because I thought
you would be scared.” He watches me carefully. “But I suppose it is in your blood. You were never going to be scared by any of this, were you? You are your father’s daughter after all, Annabel Lee.”

All I can make out is a large structure of pale stones, tall doors, and rows of windows gleaming like sharp teeth against the night.

His attention returns to me. “Have you ever felt a story was inside you, but you could not do it justice? It’s as if there were something standing in your way, blocking you from being able to write the story, and only this other piece of you could understand whatever it was?”

I am saddened that I have already offended Father with my rough manners and poorly chosen gift.
I wonder if I shall always be such a disappointment to him.

"...it’s the name of the most evil Black Witch there has ever been.”

I want to say “Marcus.” He’s my father and I want to say his name, but I’m too

"...it’s the name of the most evil Black Witch there has ever been.”

I want to say “Marcus.” He’s my father and I want to say his name, but I’m too afraid. I’m always too afraid to say his name.

“She’s dead because of you.”
I back against the wall.
Jessica shouts at me. “She killed herself because of you!”

Niall catches me on the side of the head with the brick and Connor is clinging on to me.
Then I get rammed in my back, which must be with the brick again.
It reverberates down my spine and stops me dead.
I’ve been hammered into the tarmac like a nail.

He puts the point back into my left shoulder blade and I clench my jaw and scream while he makes another cut.
He stops again and says, “You should have listened to him.”
He makes another slow cut.
And I am going mad screaming and praying for someone to make him stop.
But he makes another cut and then another and all I can do is scream and pray.

The routine is the same as ever. And so is the cage. And so are the shackles. The choker is still on, loose but there. If I try to leave, I’ll die, no doubt about it.

I scream and curse him and move my finger as much as I can but the ring tightens and the needle goes into me again.
As it comes out I’m sweating.
He moves on to the top of my finger, over the fingernail. The needle goes through again.

So I must go to him.
I must go and find my father.

Hunters are the elite group of White Witches employed by the Council to hunt down Black Witches in Britain. Gran says they are employed by other Councils in Europe more and more as there are so few Blacks left in Britain. Hunters are mainly women, but include a few talented male witches. They are all ruthless and efficient.

i hava bordr and sisser my bordrs Arran
he is niss and Debsis clvrer

Annalise has long blonde hair that glistens like melted white chocolate over her shoulders. She has blue eyes and long pale eyelashes. She smiles a lot, revealing her straight, white teeth. Her hands are impossibly clean, her skin is the color of honey, and her fingernails gleam.

I hold out my picture. “What do you think? Now it’s finished.”
I’m prepared for her to say something horrible, laugh at it or at me. But I don’t think she’ll do that.
She smiles and says, “It’s really good.”

It is a secret story that I tell myself when I’m in bed at night. My father is not evil at all; he is powerful and strong. And he cares about me . . . he loves me. And he wants to bring me up as his true son, to teach me about witchcraft, to show me the world. But he is constantly persecuted by White Witches who give him no opportunity to explain. But he is waiting for the right time to come for me and take me away with him.

Of course I know. I know that even if I don’t fight, even if I avoid Annalise, even if I get on my knees and lick Niall’s and Connor’s boots, it will make no difference; they will do what they like and say what they like, and what they say will be believed.

"You aren’t evil, Nathan. Nothing about you is evil. You will have a powerful Gift—we can all see that—but it’s how you use it that will show you to be good or bad."

"We’ve hated each other since forever.”

“Love, hate,” she says with a smile. “Such a fine line between the two, isn’t there?”

"We’ve hated each other since forever.”

“Love, hate,” she says with a smile. “Such a fine line between the two, isn’t there?”

...married BFFs who were invested in keeping the Cafferty-Marsden attachment alive and strong.

You can imagine what it’s been like since our mothers first plopped us into a crib together, rubbing their hands in conspiratorial glee as they planned our wedding. Playdates followed where the adults smiled and cooed as they watched us dig in the sandbox, where Ryder tugging on my pigtails was a sure sign of his adoration, where me throwing sand in his face only proved my devotion.

“Great, here we go again.” He starts to walk away and then turns back to face me. “You know what? I have no idea what I did to piss you off, but—”

“Seriously?” I sputter. “I’ll give you a hint—eighth grade.”

“You’re mad at me about something I did in eighth grade, Jem? That was four fucking years ago. Whatever it was, why don’t you grow up and get over it?”

It’s not that I don’t want to live out my days here. It’s just that I want the opportunity to...I don’t know...spread my wings and fly a bit before I come back home to roost, you know? If I end up back in Magnolia Branch, I want it to be because I’ve chosen to be here.

He deepens the kiss, and I feel myself pulling away mentally even as I participate physically. My mind begins to wander.

“I wonder if it’ll be as bad as they’re saying.”
“Could be the worst to hit the coast since Katrina.”

I can smell something else too—fear. He’s terrified.
Of the storm?
Six foot four and scared as a puppy.

“Are you scared, Jemma?”
I prop my head up on one elbow. “Yeah, I’m scared,” I say, carefully weighing my words. “But...we’ll be okay."
I hear him swallow hard. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“I’m glad you are too."

If you’re wondering what it’s like to grow up here, just consider this—there are six choices when it comes to places of worship, but only one when it comes to fast food.

Most everyone adores Dr. Parrish, except for Cheryl Jackson, who’d been very vocal about taking her children elsewhere because she couldn’t possibly trust her pre cious babies to one of “those” people. And by “those” people, she means black people. Of course, her son is a complete tool, and her daughter spent half of last semester in rehab, so there you go.

Mama taught me to sew, Daddy to shoot. That’s the way we roll here in Magnolia Branch.

Am I dating him just to have someone to go out with? Or is the attraction real? Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the whole bad-boy thing—which I realize is beyond stupid.

Besides, he’s not that bad of a boy. But he is the total opposite of Ryder, which means that going out with him is the complete opposite of what my family wants me to do. Maybe that’s it, then—a minor rebellion on my part.

He’s the star quarterback of our Division 1A state-championship football team. Top student in our class. He plays the piano like some kind of freaking prodigy. Oh, and did I mention that he’s gorgeous? Of course he is. Six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of swoon-worthy good looks.

"My mom already controls enough in my life. What food I eat. What clothes I wear. Hell, even my underwear. You wouldn’t believe the fight she put up a few years back when I wanted to switch to boxer briefs instead of regular boxers. Anyway, if my parents want it for me, it must be wrong. So I convinced myself...”

“Is this okay?”

I tilt my head back against the wall, catching my breath. “Yeah,” I say, panting. “It’s definitely okay."

And, of course, that’s when the dang-blasted tornado siren decides to go off again.

None of the girls was asleep, drugged, playing, waiting.
They were dead.
They had been killed here.
She wanted to be horrified. It seemed sick to be j

None of the girls was asleep, drugged, playing, waiting.
They were dead.
They had been killed here.
She wanted to be horrified. It seemed sick to be jealous, too, but she was. It hurt to know he’d loved so many other girls; that she was not special, not unique.

“I’m not allowed to ride in my friends’ cars. I’m not allowed to get my license until I’m eighteen. I’m not allowed to date. Not allowed to watch R-rated movies. Not allowed to go for walks after dark. Not allowed to play with sharp objects. The list goes on and on.”

It was one in the morning and she was alone in a strange city, with her duffel bag next to her, a play cracked open in front of her—and she had nowhere to go.
This was not the triumphant homecoming she’d imagined.

Casinos were open all night. She’d figured she could sit in the café, maybe doze off with her head on the table, and no one would care. But now that she’d been there three hours, Mira was starting to think her predicament was obvious. That some gambler would see a “helpless” girl in a frilly blouse and shorts and hit on her. Or some slot-playing grandma would spot a “runaway” and call the police. Or both.

She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, and when she pulled it away, Mira saw that the cloth was full of sodden flowers: shiny-wet violets, tiny daisies, delicate pink bleeding hearts. All fresh and flecked with blood.

Mira’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. Sometimes this place was just too weird.

Her cheek burned like she’d been lying in the sun too long, and she stood perfectly still, not wanting to break the spell.

His hand grazed her breast, and her breath caught in her throat.

...the bolt on the door had been breached, and the door had been flung open and slammed hard against the wall. A slender, dark figure moved swiftly through the room—
And pounced on the bed.

Mira settled back and did her best to calm down. Maybe Felix would punch Blue for her later.

She wanted to do something, to show him she could be natural at this, but—she couldn’t. Her body had gone rigid with apprehension.

She wandered out into the empty suite, trying hard not to cry. Her embarrassment from last night came flooding back.

Mira pouted at him. It was obvious there was something he wasn’t telling her.

There are things I need to do here, and I intend to do them.”

“Um, little animals flock to him like he’s made of candy.”

“What’s all this curse talk?” Mira murmured to Freddie.
“Just a joke,” Freddie said, flashing an unconvincing smile.

“You know, you are the most...despicable person I’ve ever met.” Mira’s fingers tightened around the Cinderella’s Secret bag. “You don’t even know me, but you insist on being a jerk to me every chance you get.”

“I didn’t say he wants to like you. Just that he does. Maybe because you act like you don’t like him, so he feels a little safer."

“Would you like me to carry your bag?” Freddie asked. He looked a little guilty—but hopeful, too.
“No.”
“But I’d like to do you favors.”

She threw her arms around his neck, swayed toward him, off balance, and kissed him violently, possessively. Come back, she thought. Stay with me.
“I bought—a sexy nightgown,” she said. “Do you want to see it?”

But the one thing she hadn’t expected to find was a kiss that could destroy her. A kiss that—if it hadn’t ended in time—could have been her last.
She shivered all over at the memory. Both terrified and wanting it to happen again.

“I’m small and plain.”
Desni shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re a beautiful girl, Senna. More so because of how rare your features are. Those gol

“I’m small and plain.”
Desni shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re a beautiful girl, Senna. More so because of how rare your features are. Those golden eyes—”
“But when compared to someone like Ciara—”
“You compare diamonds to rubies. Rubies may be a bit more flashy, but diamonds are made of tougher stuff and are more rare.”

Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked
The way she'd act and the colour of her hair
Her voice was soft and cool
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there

He was tall—head and shoulders taller than her. Thin, but in a strong way. He had a crop of brown hair that hung low over his forehead. His legs bowed out at the knees—probably from riding so much. He had a permanent wrinkle around his eyes, as if he never stopped smiling long enough for the lines to smooth out. He was smiling at her now.

Oh, Sister Sea Plants, I ask of thee,
Take me to the place none but Witches see.

Corn, stop the men who hold me tight,
Bind them though they fight.

Plants of the forest, make a path for me,
For through this forest I must flee.
After I pass, hide my trail,
For an enemy I must quell.

Plants, with strength and swiftness, come to me,
For with my companions I must flee.

He saw a face set against a dark cloak. Wisps of blonde hair, wavy from the moist air, fell across her breast. Her lips were full.

Before she could change her mind, she snatched her wrap from its hook and flung it around her narrow shoulders.

“I’ve heard her. When she’s fully come into her own, I wouldn’t doubt she’ll be at least a Level Four."

"My guess is you might be the only Witch left.”

Joshen lowered his voice. “Then how’ll you find it?”
“I’ll find it,” she assured him.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but the song felt right.

Bringing his bruised face closer, Wardof beckoned Garg toward him. “You wanna do something to stop me, you dull, fat, laughable excuse for Espen’s Servant!”

“What are you?” he whispered into her strawberry-scented curls. Damn. He breathed in deeply. He could inhale that smell all night. His body reacted

“What are you?” he whispered into her strawberry-scented curls. Damn. He breathed in deeply. He could inhale that smell all night. His body reacted to it like cats to catnip.

"Mr. Rock-Star-National-Geographic"

“It seems young Dillan has also been part of several, and I mean several, ad campaigns for designers like Calvin Klein and Armani, to name two."

"He was once approached to star in a movie."

"He’s even rumored to have dated every young Hollywood starlet and emerging singer you can name."

"You know that Taylor Swift song—”
“The one about the guy who dumped her?” Kyle asked.

“Dillan’s also the son of the legendary duo of archeologists: Dr. Jarvis Sloan and Dr. Lillian Sloan.”
“You mean the two who proved Atlantis is really in South America and not in Spain?"

“As I was saying,” she continued. “Rumor has it Dillan was responsible for unearthing a lost civilization in the Amazon.”

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” He sighed like he tasted the meaning behind the words.

The cat on his lap purred. “You like Frost, huh?” He glanced at the contented feline. “I know. The man can rhyme.”

...her nose scrunched up and the tops of her cheeks tinted pink. She clutched the handle of the feather duster so hard its feathers quivered. Her lips contorted.

Those unique aquamarine eyes he could stare into all day. They reflected her heart and soul. And her blushes that stopped his heart every time.

He shifted moods from zero to sixty in less than three seconds. I was beginning to see that he said mean and snarky things as a defense mechanism.

An entire succubus population in one school? They made him feel like fresh meat ready for the taking.

“I’d like a piece of him,” he heard the woman say. He tried not to cringe. Or run. Cougars were known to give chase.

The second we touched, a spark zinged up my arm.
“Ye-aw!” I jumped out of my seat. All eyes in the room immediately focused on me.

He smirked. “What happened to compromise? You know the meaning of that word, don’t you? Or should I get a dictionary?”
I let out a keening growl and threw the tub of glue at him without thinking twice about it. The jerk had it coming.

His arms tightened around me. I sighed at his body heat against mine. It felt like a blanket on a rainy day—comforting and safe. Nothing like the arrogant Dillan I knew.
“No.” A hint of pleading crept into his tone. “Not yet. Don’t move yet.”

“I need to suck out the poison.”
Ignoring his continued protests, she bent over him and sucked at the wound she’d created.

The utter menace in Garret’s expression made him look like a man who knew people who specialized in making annoyances disappear, no questions asked.

“Il-lu-me-na-ri. My family...we protect people. Simply, we are what stand between you and chaos. Humans aren’t the only race in this world. Many of those we protect you from still consider you as food. In the Illumenari we call them Supernaturals. Basically everything that goes bump in the night."

"He was a love sick puppy with nothing but you on his mind. It was sickening to hear him talk about you all the time. Just ask any of his teammates."

She baffled the hell out of him. Selena Fallon. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the electricity their contact created.

I was gangly and awkward—coppery curls that broke brushes, a complexion like I’d never heard of the sun, and long limbs meant for banging into things.

She wrinkled her nose. “The freckles are still there.”
“No, no, no, no! They’re a feature that brings out the sea in your eyes! You’re beautiful.”

Another thump.
This would be the point where the audience would scream at me to run back to the house. But, like in horror movies, the heroine—i.e. me...moved to investigate.

What could be going on in that brain of hers to challenge a group of undead with a stick?

“Rainer!” He moved further into the house, not having the patience for his uncle’s mind games. “You dick, I know you’re home.”

“You’re trouble, and I don’t do trouble.” He opened the book again and continued reading like I’d been dismissed. Well, his highness had another thing coming.

“What?” Her words didn’t sink in fast enough. He was too distracted by the way the setting sun brought out golden highlights in her copper curls.

I whispered my disappointment at how Constance let herself fall into Dillan’s trap.

“The Perfect Killer is based in Chelsea and is a student,” I said loudly.
“You...didn’t know that,” I realized with a touch of despair. I had

“The Perfect Killer is based in Chelsea and is a student,” I said loudly.
“You...didn’t know that,” I realized with a touch of despair. I had said too much.
I only wanted to prove my cleverness to him, seemingly using information that was public property. But instead I had given him new clues that could lead to me.
Shit.

When I was nine, we began to manage it together, and when I was twelve she let me have it all for my own. I only killed four between the ages of nine and twelve, but when I took absolute possession of the mailbox I set a quicker pace—about ten a year.

I wondered if the maids would be nervous too if they knew they were cleaning the house of murderers.

She had on this draped, toga-like dress patterned with green bamboo; it didn’t suit her figure, and it bothered me, but she was one of my favorite teachers despite her odd dressing habits. I’d had her a few years ago for an English class. She taught English when she wasn’t teaching philosophy, and I liked her and how she spoke. Her short black hair was no-nonsense, no-frills. She didn’t talk too fast. She took her time with things, and sometimes I even believed that she might understand me and why I killed. But I would never tell her, of course. She was legally obligated, as a teacher, to tell the police.

...he looked almost upset, but the turmoil was mixed disturbingly with fury.

His eyes tell me that he is thinking intently about something else, and also that he is sad about something or other.

“Yes, but I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t, everyone is going to think that, but I swear I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t...,” I wailed insistently, and leaned more heavily against the window, quivering timidly. I even managed to make myself cry some more, tears leaking out of my eyes slowly.

I thought about us in our gray-walled, elegant hallway, the two slender blondes on the edge of an expensive rug, pale-skinned and frail-looking, pausing beneath famous photographs, drinking orange juice from designer glasses.

They would see dark eyes under dark eyelashes, prominent collarbones, and a smattering of freckles dashed across a thin nose like Audrey Hepburn’s, the only truly beautiful feature of a small pale face—would they see a seventeen-year-old murderer?

Strangely few people knew about it, considering the fact that I was so famous. Not even the police knew about it. Or at least I assumed so, since they hadn’t taken control of or searched it yet.

Letters nearly filled the mailbox, at least thirty of them.

You know why we kill. We kill because there is no justice. And without us, the world is lost—”

Dear Killer,
I had had too much to drink, maybe I shouldn’t have been driving, but I didn’t mean anything bad. I was just going home. But there was this red light and I didn’t really know what I was doing, and I drove through it—and there was this other car that swerved to avoid me, and it crashed and someone died.
I just kept driving.

Kill her. Her name is Lily Kensington, and she lives at 28 Lark Place, in Chelsea. She gets home every night at nine.

It makes me angry. She makes me angry. But I love her. No one can have her but me, or I really am going to kill myself.
Please. Please kill her. If I can’t have her, no one can.

He was young. Younger than I had expected. Much younger, in fact. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five or thirty. I remembered that my mom had said he was only unofficially in charge of the investigation.

...he had a bit of a studious feel to him, as if he were a professor or some other scholar.
He was attractive. Surprisingly so.

“I was hoping you’d come. We need a new eye here. It’s the same deal as before—an untraceable murder. It’s frustrating.”

“The couch pillows are still in place,” he said angrily. “No DNA, no fingerprints, no witnesses, no broken windows or picked locks, nothing. Nothing but the body.”

Alex let the tape fall, and shoulder to shoulder, we walked inside. Legitimate police officers passed by me, looking very official, making me feel like a child. Once we got into the front hallway, where Lily Kensington had put her hand on my shoulder, he gestured to the room to our left.

Black carpet so the bloodstains wouldn’t help the police solve the murder.

I walked into the Chelsea Police Station bearing pastries and a smile.

“You’re a kid. Why are you following me to work? You want something, I can tell, but I don’t know what that is.”
“Ah...well...” I laughed nervously. “I want to know about the Perfect Killer.”

When we got to the crime scene, there was crime-scene tape everywhere and a near army of reporters.
I did my best to keep them from seeing my face, given the fact that they were possible witnesses. Of course, I was subtle about it.

I looked around, biting my lip. I needed to get in. Usually by this point in the conversation I was already inside.
“Actually, I have to talk to you about something,” I murmured.
“Yeah, well, whatever you want to talk to me about, we can talk right here,” she said, leaning against the doorway imposingly, making it clear that she was taller and stronger than me. Her expression was distinctly unfriendly.
“It’s...well...I don’t want to,” I said childishly, petulantly.

“Fair enough. We’re friends, then?”
She smiled a soft smile, ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Friends.”
My stomach churned a bit.

“Stop playing games,” I hissed.
Yet again, everyone was listening. They had stopped what they were doing and they were all listening to us, wondering if we would deteriorate into physical violence again.

“How did you discover the body?”
“I just...went to the bathroom, and he was there, on the floor.” I shuddered.

And here, in the hallway, despite the darkness of the situation, emotions began to float up in my chest again, accentuated and amplified by the physical closeness between Alex and me.

“A boy.”

The woman laughs and closes her eyes, but it isn’t a happy laugh. It’s an of-course-a-boy-knows laugh. A why-did-I-even-bother-asking laugh

“A boy.”

The woman laughs and closes her eyes, but it isn’t a happy laugh. It’s an of-course-a-boy-knows laugh. A why-did-I-even-bother-asking laugh.

He waves a hand, blindly indicating the area around her head. “Your hair is blond, and Jay says it’s brown. And your eyes? Oh God. What is going on?”

“Different? Aren’t they, like, brown or something?”
Colin mumbles, “Maybe gray.”

Her eyes are murky green-brown.

Her eyes are this rich, grinding violet, flecked with metallic red

Her eyes changed colors as he watched, from deep gray to an aching, honest blue.

Her eyes morph from dark to pale yellow in the light of the bright, full moon.

He watches her eyes shift from green to silver in the light.

Her eyes open, and hunger and joy swirl green and auburn inside

Her eyes are a provocative, sympathetic indigo.

Her eyes have gone metallic brown, swirling.

Her eyes darken, mocha swirling into burgundy.

Wild, dark curls fall into his eyes, and he flips them away with an unconscious shake of his head. In that moment, her silent heart twists beneath the empty walls of her chest. And she realizes, in the absence of hunger or thirst, discomfort or cold, this is the first physical sensation she’s had since waking under a sky full of falling leaves.

“I think I’m here for you.”

She looks like a shadow of a girl. A shadow wearing a cap of sunshine.

She’s spent hours since she woke trying to understand what she is. If she’s back where she was killed, then is she a ghost?

Colin hasn’t seen her in a week, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what she said just before she ran out the door.

He wants Lucy to be his girlfriend in every way that matters, including the ways that mean he can touch her. The urge to kiss her is becoming suffocating.

If the simple touch of his lip on her fingertip felt so intense, what would it feel like to actually kiss him? She’s afraid she’d be unable to process so much sensation.

“I started researching hypothermia, and it takes a long time for the brain to shut down entirely. I mean, in between being cold and being dead, there’s a lot of room.”

“You are crazy.”

His hands find waist, ribs, breasts. They grow wild and impatient, itching to feel every inch.

Stories of a place where students seemed to die at a higher rate than any other boarding school in the country. Colin never understood why it was a surprise that kids died or disappeared more frequently here than other places from things like exposure, pneumonia, and suicide.

Prosecutors allege the 42-year-old former headmaster of Saint Osanna’s boarding school outside of Coeur D’Alene stalked [his victim] for several weeks prior to the murder.

Lucy’s been lurking around campus for more than two months—minus the ten days of unexpected vanish—and no teacher really bothers to question her presence, let alone her decidedly non-dress-code boots.

Lucy is exactly where Jay said she was, sitting on a bench in front of Ethan Hall.

“Amanda said they saw her walking down by the lake,”

There’s an old dock not far from where the trail ends. Colin isn’t surprised when he sees Lucy sitting at the end of it.

She sits by the statue of Saint Osanna the next morning with her arms wrapped around her legs pulled tight to her chest.

She’s here, a ghost in girls’ clothing, haunting this private school. But she doesn’t want to haunt anyone. She wants to be tangible and solid. To sleep in a dorm and eat in the dining hall and flirt. With him. All she wants is to be near him.

She tells him that she didn’t feel the need to find her parents even though they might still be alive and how that lack of compulsion worries her somehow.

He wants more. He practically aches for her touch. It’s more than hormones. It’s like he’s physically drawn into her space, has to force himself to keep any sort of acceptable distance.

Her dimple makes him think of giggled pleas, mischievous promises, and the taste of sugar on his tongue. Gunmetal eyes meet his, and the color is alive, churning like an angry ocean, pulling him in.

He lets himself drown.

Colin mumbles, “Maybe gray,” but his heart is thundering.

He’s pretty sure if he says, “They’re like melted metal,” Jay will actually have a T-shirt made for him with the words I AM A DELICATE POET printed across the chest.

“Bugger off,” I snapped.

“Just because you kissed me don’t mean I’m your girl none,” I told him.

Did he think I were John’s bit of fun for the day? My belly twisted and I didn’t like the feeling.
And he weren’t Rob. But then, maybe that weren’t such an awful thing. Rob’s sort I could never deserve.

His eyes looked into mine in a way that made my breath suck out of my pipes. “You’re every kind of surprise, you know that?”

He looked at me, his eyes running over my face. He came closer, and I were against the wall, so my heart started to flutter-beat in my chest. I didn’t much like feeling trapped. He palmed my hat, pushing it back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, pulling away.
“I need to see your eyes when I ask you this.”
“Ask what?”
“Are you in love with Rob, Scar?”

His lips pressed against mine, strong like the rest of him and a little wet, pushing my lips into a fair good kiss. He caught me up ’bout the waist and kissed me deeper. I shut my eyes, and Rob’s face popped into my head.

“About John,” he said at long last.
I blinked.
“I don’t want to know how you two are fooling about, but if it interferes with the band I’ll kick you out myself.”

Chiron looked surprised. “I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles.”

Chiron looked surprised. “I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles.”

Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she’d gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover’s lap.
“Oops.” She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

"Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her.”
“They must really like olives.”
“Oh, forget it.”
“Now, if she’d invented pizza—that I could understand.”
“I said, forget it!”

“About sixty years ago, after World War II, the Big Three agreed they wouldn’t sire any more heroes. Their children were just too powerful."

Now that I was declared a son of one of the Big Three gods who weren’t supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for me just to be alive.

"During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: ‘Mother Rhea always liked you best,’ ‘Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,’ et cetera."

In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart’s Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff’s “So Yesterday,” both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.

Annabeth nodded. “Your father isn’t dead, Percy. He’s one of the Olympians.”
“That’s...crazy.”
“Is it? What’s the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they’ve changed their habits in the last few millennia?”

“What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?”

“Come now, Percy. What you call ‘Western civilization.’ Do you think it’s just an abstract concept? No, it’s a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it."
"Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods."

I didn’t know what else to do. I waved back.
“Don’t encourage them,” Annabeth warned. “Naiads are terrible flirts.”
“Naiads,” I repeated, feeling completely overwhelmed. “That’s it. I want to go home now.”

“All right,” I said. “It’s better than being turned into a dolphin.”

“But a quest to . . .” Grover swallowed. “I mean, couldn’t the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine’s very nice this time of year.”

"Welcome to Lumiére Academy. Your school."

"Welcome to Lumiére Academy. Your school."

"Ondines are peaceful, powerful, and protective. Along with our dessondine ancestors, we are responsible for the protection and maintenance of water. We give birth to two races, ondines and demillirs. We are beings of magic, leaders and symbols of the water elemental world."

"I still don't understand how training ondines to fight is a problem."
"It goes against our very nature." Her lips tightened. "It would be like trying to turn a swan into a shark."

Broussard's eyes swept the classroom. "Who can name the eight Virtues?"
"Clairvoyance, Kinesis, Projection, Healing, Cloaking, Empath, Teleportation, and Transmutation."

...most non-Redavi demillirs serve as chevaliers because they possess extra-human speed and strength.

"Redavi demillirs take afternoon classes in business and politics. But they usually just hang around bragging about their inheritances."
"Fucking Redavi," Cam muttered under his breath.

"Aquidae are grotesque demons with no soul. No matter how much they may look like us, they are not. They do not live, but feed off violence and death." She shook her head sadly. "The great tragedy is that these abominations used to be beings of light."

Aquidae were humans or elementals who were turned, either by force or by choice.

"How can an Aquidae be killed?"
"By destroying the Origin scar, either through staking or decapitation," Ryder said. "Staking is the easier of the two."

"Depends on what teacher you get. We're all juniors," Ryder motioned to everyone at the table, "which means we have most of our regular classes together. In the afternoon, we go to chevalier training classes while ondines take elemental magic or Virtue classes."

Thick, straight hair tumbled down to my waist, and I gave it a few more swipes with a brush to make it shine. I swept all of it in front of my left shoulder so that my right shoulder lay bare, showing off my tattoo. The familiar feel of my dagger in its usual place at the small of my back comforted me.
Sexy and just a bit dangerous. Exactly the look I was going for.

I remembered that tournament two years ago. I'd won decisively in kumite, the free sparring division against a six-five guy who was over twice my weight. Receiving that trophy was one of the proudest moments of my life.

I knew we were Redavi, which is kind of like nobility in ondine society.

Not only was my mom Redavi, but she was the daughter of the official political leader of Haverleau.

"You're an Empath?" Chloe squeaked. "That's really rare."
"I've never met an Empath before," Ryder said, staring at me like I'd grown horns out of my head.

"There was a prophecy," Aubrey said. "No one knows the exact details because prophecies are highly protected. But it predicted the coming of an ondine who would have the mark of the elemental diamond on her left ankle, and the mark of water on her right shoulder. As the sondaleur, she'd bring about the end of our war with the Aquidae."

Every movement was full of power, revealing the litheness of his body and his superior skill and control. Gold streaked through the air as his kouperet staked first one and then the other.
All three Aquidae were on the ground, dead in a pool of thick, dark blood.
I couldn't believe it. I'd never seen anyone move as fast or as effectively as this man just did.

"And of course, you've met Prince Tristan Belicoux."
Prince?
"He's Chief Gardinel and Crown Prince of the Selkie Kingdom."

"He's got quite a rep with the ladies," Chloe said. "And you're totally his type."

Julian LeVeq leaned casually against the wall, a small smile playing on his lips.

Julian LeVeq leaned casually against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, charisma rolling off him in waves.

Julian LeVeq lounged on a bench directly beneath the lamp, reading a battered paperback of The Complete Poetry of Arthur Rimbaud.

Aubrey shot me a surprised look. "You haven't heard? She went Rogue. Ran off last night with the gardinel assigned to her mother. They'd been together secretly for awhile."
Everyone shifted uncomfortably and I suddenly noticed my chest hurt.
"Don't they know what's going to happen?" Chloe shuddered.
No one said anything. We all knew the consequences.

Ryder and I spent quite a chunk of time together every day. I didn't consider him my boyfriend, but I did enjoy being around him. He made me laugh and his unfailing admiration made me feel good. Selfish as that feeling may be, I needed it a lot right now.

Julian probably wanted to add me to his long list of conquered women and he thought his chances would improve if we spent more time together.

A knife flashed in her hand and she lunged at him.

God, he had to be crazy. She had a knife to his throat and all he could think about was how her l

A knife flashed in her hand and she lunged at him.

God, he had to be crazy. She had a knife to his throat and all he could think about was how her lips would taste.

Insanity. It had to be.

But he wanted to kiss her more than anything right that second.

This was her fault. She had disturbed the balance of the universe.

She ached to return to Pyralis, to the twilight and the scent of flowers layered through the air, to the vast horizon of stars and the trees that whispered songs to her in the half darkness, and to her sisters, singing to the sky, running through the forests.

Her fate depended on his.
If she did not find Luc, if she did not kill him the way the marble had indicated—the hand, the knife—she would never be allowed to return to Pyralis Terra.

He never exactly felt like an outsider, but the thought was always there, in the back of his mind: Different.

She had the craziest eyes he’d ever seen. … Gray, but tinged almost with purple, like the bay reflecting the sunset.

The soft grayish-purple color of her eyes was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t keep from staring. Her pupils dilated and the color changed, deepening to a wild violet hue that reminded him of dark storm clouds in a summer sky.

The fire lit up crazy colors in her eyes—threads of silver and gold, that wild violet color—and for a second, he felt as if he was consumed by her eyes, lost in them.

She smelled like flowers—lilac. The word popped into his head. It was intoxicating. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in. Do more than just breathe her in.

The space between them grew smaller; the smell of her, that insane smell of flowers, intensified.

For a second, her head lolled heavily against his, and he could smell her breath. Flowers.
She smelled like flowers.

And then her lovely eyes rolled backward, her body relaxed, and she lost consciousness.

“You will destroy Pyralis, Corinthe. You will destroy everything you love. Is that what you want? The only way to stop it is to kill him.”

But she didn’t know whether she could kill him.
She didn’t want to kill him.

Her sister Fates: Alexia, Alessandra, Beatrice, Brienne, Calyssa...

In Pyralis, the Fates all looked the same. They wove white dresses out of flower petals.

The way he had looked at her, the hunger in his eyes, made something ache deep inside of her.

She was an Executor, and feelings had no business in her life, but for one second, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Enough, she told herself. Wherever he was, she would find him and kill him. There was no choice, only destiny.

There was no way she could kill him, even if she wanted to.

He pulled her hips forward instinctively, molding them against his body.
Corinthe made a sound deep in her throat, and his pulse leapt. Fire raced through his veins.
She moved closer and the knife nicked his throat.

Was she a runaway? Maybe he had startled her and she had come after him in self-defense. Assumed he was going to turn her in.
It had to be a misunderstanding.

Luc turned back toward Corinthe. She paused, and a gust of wind lifted strands of her hair, making it dance around her head chaotically. For a second, insanely, he wondered how it would feel to have her body pressed up against him one more time.

Girl or not, injured or not, she was still trying to kill him. He was on her in an instant, straddling her waist, the knife pulled quickly from his belt and pressed against her throat.

Corinthe grabbed his hand, forced the knife against the pulse that beat wildly in her neck. Her eyes glistened in the suns, turning a haunting shade of purple. She arched her back, lifting her chin so she was even more exposed to him.
She looked alone and lost and wild and beautiful.
Protect her.
The crazy thought came out of nowhere.

The silk wraparound skirt she had on billowed around her legs. She smoothed it down over her hips and he forgot everything—what to think, what to say, how to breathe.
Everything about her was amazing. The way she tilted her head to the side, like she was listening for something. The curve of her neck right at the shoulder, a spot he wanted desperately to touch.

For ten years she’d been dwelling in this world, executing fates as the Unseen Ones willed, but none of the humans had made her feel this way before. What was different this time?

He was different—he looked at her differently, too, as if he could see something behind her eyes.

“A kestrel is a hunting hawk.”
“Yes. The perfect name for a warrior girl.”
“Well.” His smile was slight, but it was there. “I suppo

“A kestrel is a hunting hawk.”
“Yes. The perfect name for a warrior girl.”
“Well.” His smile was slight, but it was there. “I suppose neither of us is the person we were believed we would become.”

“But when you are faced with only two choices— the military or marriage—don’t you wonder if there is a third, or a fourth, or more, even, than that?”

If the Herrani hadn’t prized music so highly before the war, that, too, might have changed things. But in the eyes of Valorian society, music was a pleasure to be taken, not made, and it didn’t occur to many that the making and the taking could be the same.

Kestrel drew in a shaky breath. Her bones felt watery. What had she done?

The pointy-chinned woman snickered. “Looks like someone’s suffering the Winner’s Curse. The Winner’s Curse is when you come out on top of the bid, but only by paying a steep price.”

Shouldn’t she care? Didn’t she welcome Ronan’s attention?

"...she had no natural talent for fighting."

“Imagine how the empire would benefit if you truly worked with me,” he said, “and used that talent to secure its territories, instead of pulling apart the logic of customs that order our society.”
“Our customs are lies.” Kestrel’s fingers clenched the fragile stem of her glass.

“What did you say?” Arin whispered in Valorian. He was staring at Jess. “Of course you have no gods. You have no souls.”

Do you think you are the first? it read. The only Valorian to take a slave to her bed? Poor fool!
Let me tell you the rules.
Do not be so obvious.

His hands fell away. “You, too. What a stupid thing for you to do. Why did you do that? Why would you do such a stupid thing?”
“You might not think of me as your friend,” Kestrel told Arin, “but I think of you as mine.”

“He has stolen something.”
There must be some mistake. Arin was intelligent, far too canny to do something so dangerous. He must know what happened to Herrani thieves.

"Swallow your pride.”
“Maybe that’s not as easy for me as it is for you.”
He wheeled on her. “It’s not easy for me,” he said through his teeth. “You know that it’s not. What do you think I have had to swallow, these past ten years? What do you think I have had to do to survive?”

She tried to push away thoughts of Arin on the auction block, of the look in his eyes when he asked where his honor was, of him swearing at her guards in his tongue. She held Ronan more tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Why didn’t he come to her?
She could make him. If she sent an order, he would obey.
But she didn’t want his obedience. She wanted him to want to see her.

Ninety percent of their sentences begin with “My boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend has the most adorable golden retriever.”

“My boyfriend is taking his drivi

Ninety percent of their sentences begin with “My boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend has the most adorable golden retriever.”

“My boyfriend is taking his driving test next week, and he’s been practicing like a maniac.”

The girls humor me with smiles, then continue their deep conversation. It’s a biological compulsion.

It asks whether a work of fiction features at least two women who talk to each other about something other than a man.

...boys, shoes or our classmates.

I’m just speeding up the inevitable.

That kid was born to play football, and he knows it. The only thing stopping him is right between that girl’s legs. Excuse my language.”

We used to be friends.
I have to vanquish the evil queen.

“Remember the part at the end, when Harry says to Sally, ‘When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start now’? That’s how I feel about you. Not the ‘rest of my life’ part. But you are the girl I’ve been searching for. You’re so different and interesting. This may sound crazy, but I can see myself falling in love with you.”

Having a significant other will put any student at Ashland High School on the social radar, and chances are if you’re in a relationship, someone else is talking about it.

Ashland High has an overabundance of girls. It’s a sixty-five, thirty-five split. This gives guys a huge advantage. They can be fat, lazy and pimply and still get to be choosy. Finding a suitable guy to date is a study in Darwinism. Survival of the hottest. The options dwindle with each year.

His break-up with Bethann was felt throughout the AP hallway, where they had a mini fan club.

One of the biggest joys coupled girls have is giving their single friends dating advice. Just because they lucked out—and it’s luck, nothing more—they believe that makes them dating experts. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons Val worked so hard to land a boyfriend. She’s always wanted to be on the other side of this conversation.

“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” I ask her.
“I was, but I’m getting back into red meat.” She rubs Ezra’s thigh. He grabs her fingers and squeezes.

“I need a boy.”
I can’t tell if she wants Ezra, or just a boyfriend. Someone to give her an oversize, inconvenient teddy bear. Val may not know the answer either. Vulnerability and desperation flicker in her eyes.

Why do none of the movies girls at my school love have happy endings? One half of the couple either dies or moves away. But they can’t get enough of those films. Titanic, Shakespeare in Love, Atonement, The Notebook, A Walk to Remember, every other Nicholas Sparks film known to man.

“But there was love at the core. There was something spiritual, some subconscious connection that was pulling them together. It wasn’t logic. You don’t go through all of this for someone you think is so-so.”
Ms. Hardwick hops off her desk, happy to have control of her classroom again. “Let’s put it to a class vote. Who thinks Romeo and Juliet were not in love?”
None of them raise their hands.

I always thought girls at Ashland adored Huxley, but I guess she’s like any celebrity. They’re eager to see her fall.

“Ezra, do you even know what a one-night stand is? Victoria only felt one thing inside her that night, and it wasn’t love.”
He nods, taken aback by a girl not talking like a girl for a second.

“I kissed Ezra, Val’s boyfriend.”
“Are you going to be one of those girls who happily ditches her friends for a guy?”
That leaves a bruise.

“He sounds like a creep,” she says.
“No, he’s a good guy.”
“He’s dating your best friend and openly pursuing you. I don’t have a dictionary on hand, but I’d say that’s a creep.”
“It’s not like that. You don’t understand.” I picture the way Ezra acted with me, so delicate and sweet. He didn’t have a secret agenda.

They stepped into the cafeteria. A cacophony of voices rushed at Mackenzie.
—five french fries today. Five. No more. My thighs are too—
—There’s an e

They stepped into the cafeteria. A cacophony of voices rushed at Mackenzie.
—five french fries today. Five. No more. My thighs are too—
—There’s an empty seat at Jake’s table! Should I take it? But Amanda said—
—Did I just get my period?—
As each thought hit Mackenzie’s mind, so did a stabbing pain in her forehead.

Olivia felt a wee bit guilty that Lazar didn’t know she was reading his mind. But not too guilty. It wasn’t like she asked to be able to read his mind.
And she wasn’t trying to trick him. She was trying to date him.

Everyone in class continued to talk.
“It’s so hot in here.”
“Forgot my Spanish homework.”
“Should have had a third cup of coffee.”
“Why didn’t I pee before class?”
Olivia looked around the room. Everyone was talking, but no one was moving his or her lips.

As soon as Sadie stepped inside the classroom, Teddy’s brain went into overdrive. She’s here! Awesome. I hope she’s feeling better. Her hair is so shiny.

Excellent point, Pi thought back. “One last vote. Are we all in it together?”
And we all raised our hands, Mackenzie included.
We would not tell.

As Tess put on a purple shirt, she thought about what it would mean if she found out Teddy didn’t like her. What if he thought she was ugly? Or fat? Did she really want to know what he thought of her? Was she opening some sort of Pandora’s box?

Every concern Lazar had, Olivia heard.
If she doesn’t walk faster, we’re going to be late.
Olivia walked faster.
What did she just say? She speaks so softly.
Olivia spoke up.
I wonder what her favorite band is. I hope she likes Delivery.
“I just love Delivery! They’re the best.”
“Did you like the new Thomas Allen movie?” It was so amateur. I hope she didn’t like it.
“No way,” Olivia said. “It was so amateur.”
But Lazar nodded, his eyes wide. It’s like she’s taking the words right out of my mouth!

Her dad patted her mom on the leg. I can’t wait to take off Linda’s robe.
Huh? Oh no. Mackenzie slammed her eyes shut.
Her parents. Were. Going. To. Have. Sex.
Sex!
Imminently!
She backed slowly out of the room.

Third period, Pi had a surprise quiz in precalc.
She was not prepared.

Maybe you think Olivia is telling the story. Or Mackenzie, or Cooper, or someone else in our homeroom you haven’t met yet.
It could be any of us.
But it’s not.
It’s all of us. We’re telling you this story together.

I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to think that! You’re very pretty! If you went to the gym twice a week, you’d be gorgeous! Shit, shit, shit. I’m sorry! I can’t help it!
Tess knew that Mackenzie was gorgeous. Everyone knew that Mackenzie was gorgeous. But Tess had always hoped that Mackenzie had thought Tess was gorgeous too. As is.

She wasn’t sure what to tell Cooper. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it. She loved Cooper, didn’t she?
Mackenzie couldn’t tell Cooper. He’d break up with her. And then what? She’d lose him. He’d hate her.

He was her Teddy. Even if Sadie was dating Keith, it was still possible that she could fall madly in love with Teddy, right? Even if he was a sophomore and Keith was a senior? Unlikely, yes, but still possible.

Lazar cleared his throat. “Olivia?”
“Yes?” Olivia said. She turned around to face him. She tried to look surprised.
Oh no, she looks like she doesn’t want to talk to me.
No! No! I do want to talk to you! She tried to make her face look unsurprised. Expecting.
She looks like she’s in a hurry.
Ahhhh! What was wrong with her face?
Maybe I shouldn’t ask her out. He stood up. “Have a good weekend.”
No, no, no. That was not how this was supposed to go.

“When the swamp took my brother, it sent someone—something else to take his place. I don’t know what Lenora May is, but she’s not my sister.”

“When the swamp took my brother, it sent someone—something else to take his place. I don’t know what Lenora May is, but she’s not my sister.”

“The swamp ate my brother.”

For some reason, the swamp stays firmly on the other side. A few brave plants may reach across the line, but by and large, the swamp keeps as much distance from us as we do of it.

Her hand extends slowly and she hesitates before finding the fence. Dark hair hangs in her face, wild with curls and lovely in a way mine will never be. She climbs with something less than grace, fumbles with her dress, and nearly falls to the ground in my yard.

“I want to know who she is, why she’s here, and why you’re all acting like you know her. I watched her climb over the swamp fence, for crying out loud!”
“Now you’re worrying me,” Mama says. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize your own sister?”

I can’t remember someone who doesn’t exist. I can’t remember that her favorite color is purple but thinks Chevelles look best in red. I don’t even know her name.
Except I do.
Lenora May. May to her friends. Lenora to teachers and Aunt Mina. But Lenora May to me. Always Lenora May.

“Nathan Payola,” he says. He waits for me to react, but there’s nothing for me to react to. Angrily, he adds, “He was my best friend.”

Heath wasn’t a talker, but when he did talk, the words we shared were sweet and supplemented with notes of the flirting variety.

At any other time, I’d be stuck on him admitting he ditched me. But now, all I can think of is Phin.

We can’t fight something we don’t understand. But I remember what Heath said about hope. I’m not going to let the swamp have that, too.

There are a hundred ways to die all cloaked in the twist of pale trees—gators fast enough to catch a grown man, mosquitoes teeming with disease, stinging plants, hungry black bears, and nasty cottonmouths all filled with spite and patience.

But what’s in ours is worse.
Ours is a creature all its own. We don’t stare into its depths and we don’t ever go inside.

Most of the good folk of Sticks consider it’d be faster to throw your money in a fire if you’re that keen on wasting it, but then, most of the good folk of Sticks think the periodic table has something to do with birth control.

“I’m hungry,” he says, a sound that seems to crawl from his throat. It’s devoid of the warmth Phin’s voice should have, all mud and gravel. He reaches with webbed hands, each finger tipped with a sharp, black claw.
Not my brother, I think, a trick.

he was gone.
And it’s my fault.
If I was afraid to live in a town without Phineas, I’m plain terrified of living in a world without him.

The first time she asked me about this, I’d tried and failed to explain that it wasn’t about wanting to be thin; I couldn’t think of food when the threat of losing Phin to college was so near.

The swamp continues to beckon.
I can do this.
“Phineas Harlan Saucier,” I say to whatever might be listening. “I’m coming for my brother.”

“You’ve been so safe all your life. So safe you might as well be dead. Phin did that, he kept you from living, but I won’t. I promise you, I only want to live as fiercely as I can.”

Lenora May doesn’t care that she’s in the dirt or that she’ll have to wash her dress three times to get rid of the stubborn smells that follow you home from the track, and not caring makes her both vulnerable and beautiful.

I feel small and secure in his arms with my hip balanced against his thigh. This is different from the kiss. That felt chaotic and delirious and like something beginning. This is the opposite. Together we are solid and smart and somehow not new at all.

“Sterling Saucier,” he says.
His eyes narrow in a smile. Sunlight shines through them, illuminating too many rings of brown and brass to count. He bends closer.
“May I kiss you?” he asks.

She rubbed the bald half of her head. “In China we say, ‘The girl with the full hair is not as free as the girl with the bare head.’"

“It means that

She rubbed the bald half of her head. “In China we say, ‘The girl with the full hair is not as free as the girl with the bare head.’"

“It means that as long as I still shave my hair, I’m free. See, in China, girls keep their heads bald like the boys, yeah? Then when we’re the age to become a woman, we bind our feet and grow out our hair.

I shrank back, fighting the urge to run past her through the open door. “Th-the walking corpses,” I stammered. “The ones people have been talking about. One came to the train depot, so everyone was evacuated.”
“And what of our party tonight?” Mama insisted. “What am I to do?”
“We could cancel,” I said hopefully.
She snorted. “Of course we cannot cancel. The walking Dead must have addled your brain, Eleanor. This is our first party in years.

I raced through the now-empty main hall. My footsteps echoed off the marble tiles. The porters at the front doors exchanged shocked glances. I could imagine the sight I must have presented—a flushed ball of purple silk and rustling skirts. No matter. I whisked past them and flew out into the Philadelphia night.

“I... I need to use the necessary. Perhaps I can meet you in the Hydraulic Annex?”
Clarence’s lips quirked up slightly. “Yes, all right. Use the water closet and then meet me in the annex.”

“I must go to the necessary,” I murmured to Clarence, but he didn’t budge.
I turned to the squat Pinkerton. “I must go to the necessary.”

A gentleman simply was not supposed to shake the hand of an unmarried woman without a proper, third-party introduction. I was so used to chaperoned meetings that I had acted on foolish reflex.

I took a weary breath, lifted my hands, and purred, “I’m truly sorry, sir.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a kitten.

I had wasted time worrying over Daniel and Clarence, playing on the croquet course, and arguing with Mama. I had neglected what was most important: Elijah.

Mama ignored me. “Your father did enough damage to our family’s standing, Eleanor, when he tried to save his company. Your brother only worsened it when he ran off. Without a good reputation, you will not make a suitable match. We will be on the streets soon!”
I opened my eyes and watched her. What an empty shell of a woman she was.

What was it about mouths that made them so fascinating? I had read of kisses (Shakespeare was fond of them in his plays), but I’d never seen one. And I’d certainly never experienced one. Did people merely touch lip to lip... or was there more to it?
Has Daniel ever kissed anyone?

“Fo’ shizzle,” Quentin agrees.
“Fo’ shizzle?” Tara asks, rounding on Quentin. “What are you supposed to be, Q-dog? A gangsta? A re

“Fo’ shizzle,” Quentin agrees.
“Fo’ shizzle?” Tara asks, rounding on Quentin. “What are you supposed to be, Q-dog? A gangsta? A redneck gangsta? That’s like the worst fake accent I’ve ever heard.”
“Girl,” Quentin throws his screwdriver to the floor, “please don’t be gettin’ in my face. I’ll bust yo—”

“The virus referred to as Bleek-Burns has now spread across all fifty states and most of North America. China was ground zero for this one, and last we heard, their population will more than likely be decimated by the virus.”
“Decimated?” I ask Deke. “Like practically wiped out?”
“Well, technically, that’s not what the word means.”
“Right,” I answer absentmindedly. “The historical definition of decimate is ‘to destroy one tenth of a population.’ But you know how the English language keeps evolving.” Once again, I’m babbling to hide my rising fear. “Nowadays, most people misuse ‘decimate’ to refer to the death of a large mass of people.”

“With you,” he continues, “there’s no arrogance, no self-centeredness. What I find most unfathomable is that you have no clue how beautiful you are.”

Deke clicks off the TV, swinging around to face me. “Donna,” he says carefully, “I’ve got to tell you something, but I need you to stay calm, okay?”
I spring off the bed, almost taking the burritos with me. “Is Muriel all right?”
“Yes,” Deke stands. “She’s fine. Donna—”
“Where’s my dad? Is he okay?”
Deke reaches over to steady the room service tray teetering dangerously on the edge of my bunk. “He’s fine, too. Still on the bridge. Donna—”
“They had a fight, didn’t they? And you and Muriel are leav—”
“Jeez, Donna! Shut up for a second so I can explain.”

From the expression on Deke’s face, I know he’s figuring out how to explain something. With science stuff, Deke usually has to dumb it down so I can understand.

I had pre-algebra with him that year, and he sat two rows to the left of me. When I turned my body slightly, stretching my legs in the aisle between desks, I could watch him out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t make very good math grades that year.

My house, Deke’s house, and all the other houses in our ’burb, are probably infested with the walking dead. I picture corpses hiding in my closet, lurking behind my school clothes, my raincoat, my dress for the dance. What if one of them tries on my red semi-formal gown? I shake my head.

“You’re a little slow on the uptake,” I tell him, glancing at the sky. “The sun is up now. Duh. Zombies don’t like light.”
Deke scowls at me like I’m a total idiot. “It’s vampires that don’t like light.”
I shoot him an equally fierce gaze. “I don’t care what you think. They’re zombies, Deke.”

He snorts. “They are not zombies. Zombies are dead people who have been reanimated. These people are still alive.”

“It is not alive. It’s a zombie!” I yell.
Deke scowls at me. “There’s no such thing as zombies.”

Gretchen seems to forget us, and rambles to herself, “He’s not human, but he’s not a...a...”
“Zombie.” For a moment, I don’t realize I’ve said the word aloud. My voice carries in the quiet room. A few nervous snickers erupt from the group. No one looks at me. I don’t care. They have to face facts sooner or later.
“Zombie?” Gretchen snaps back to her politician routine. “You’re so funny, Donna.” She laughs her best fake laugh. Everyone joins in, and the tension breaks.

“We’re going for water!” She grips Bo’s hands and they dance in a circle. “Water! Water! Water!”
Lara snaps out of her stupor and joins the chant. “Water water water!!”
Oh God, please tell me they’re not gonna cheer.
“We’ve got water, yes we do! We’ve got water—”
Yep, they’re gonna cheer.
Tara does a few back handsprings. Her short skirt flips inside out. Deke and Fabio watch, their mouths gaping slightly.

“I was supposed to get braces after Thanksgiving. See, I already got the spacers. And dang, girl, those babies hurt when they put them in.” He laughs. “Now, I don’t have to go to the orthodontist no more. So I’m fine with this whole worldwide-plague thing.”

"...anyone who touches the metal doorframes receives a severe electrical shock.”
In the front row, Veronica makes a loud bzzzzt noise that reminds me of a bug zapper. Immediately, three or four other kids from the robotics dork brigade start going bzzzzt, bzzzzt.

Oh. My. God. Liam just whispered to me. To me. Like we’re friends or something.

“Yay!” We fist bump. I’ve never touched Liam before and my hands tingle from the contact.

He’s beyond hot when he smiles—chiseled cheekbones, easy confidence. I remember why half the girls at school were crushing on him.

I’ve never been so happy to see Liam. And it has nothing to do with the fact that his shirt, slightly sweaty from being outside, is now clinging to his muscled chest.

Liam comes toward me. Maybe he’ll scoop me up in his arms. Bury his face in my hair. Tell me how much he missed me. Let me feel his chest.