Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.
Stephanie PerkinsStichwörter: life
It's easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why we like something.
Stephanie PerkinsWhen I come back, the club is packed. There's hardly any standing room. Anna snagged a wooden bar stool, one of the few seats here. St. Clair stands close to her, facing her, and he smoothes the platinum stripe in her hair. She pulls him even closer by the top of his jeans, one finger tucked inside. It's an intimate gesture. I'm embarrassed to watch, but I can't look away.
He kisses her slowly and deeply. They don't care that anyone could watch. Or maybe they've forgotten they aren't alone. When they break apart, Anna says something that makes him fall into silly, boyish laughter. For some reason, that's the moment that makes me turn away. Something about their love is painful.
Stichwörter: love anna st-clair lola
He glances down and notices that I'm still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it's HIS index finger that wraps underneath MY rubber band.
I shiver wonderfully. "I'm never taking it off."
Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. "It'll fall off."
"I'll ask you for another one."
"I'll give you another one." He smiles and touches his nose to mine.
Stichwörter: cricket lola rubber-bands
I want to kiss him for the rest of the night, for the rest of our lives. The one.
Stephanie PerkinsStichwörter: cricket the-one lola
I love it when he cocks an eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing.
I love listening to his boots clomp across my bedroom ceiling.
I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent.
I get out of the car, and I'm blasted by the stench of body odor. Cricket is beside me, and he's talking, but his words don't reach my ears.
Because it's my mother.
Smelling.
On my porch.
Stichwörter: humor mother smell
How much detention did you get?
"Two weeks. One per arsehole.
Stichwörter: funny
Desde que puedo recordar, siempre he hablado con la luna. Le pido consejos. Hay algo profundamente espiritual en su pálido resplandor, su superficie llena de cráteres, sus crecientes y sus menguantes. Usa un vestido nuevo todas las noches pero siempre es ella misma.
Y siempre está ahí.
Había pasado tantas noches oscuras tratando de olvidarme de Cricket. No parecía justo que él se hubiera olvidado de mí.
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