Willie said normal was boring and that I should be grateful that I had a touch of spice. She said no one cared about boring people, and when they died, they were forgotten, like something that slips behind the dresser.
Ruta SepetysWhat do you do with all this bank, Josie? Be a lot easier if you just lifted your skirt.”
“The only reason I’d lift my skirt is to pull out my pistol and plug you in the head.
Engrave your pieces, Jo, and they’ll always find their way back to you,” said Willie.
Ruta SepetysI had said too much. He was giving me the look. I hated the look. It was the “You’ve had it tough, huh, kid?” look. It made me feel pathetic.
Ruta SepetysOne day when I was fourteen, I told Charlie that I hated Mother. “Don’t hate her, Jo,” he told me. “Feel sorry for her. She’s not near as smart as you. She wasn’t born with your compass, so she wanders around, bumping into all sorts of walls. That’s sad.” I understood what he meant, and it made me see Mother differently. But wasn’t there some sort of rule that said parents had to be smarter than their kids? It didn’t seem fair.
Ruta SepetysIt amazed me how some people could touch an instrument and create something so beautiful, and when others tried, like me, it just sounded like mangled noise.
Ruta SepetysThey were certainly a pair. Cincinnati in a dead man’s suit, Mother in a dead man’s wallet.
Ruta SepetysYou got to get outta here, Josie. New Orleans is fine for some people, real good for a few. But not for you. Too much baggage that’ll pull you down. You got dreams and the potential to make ’em real.
Ruta SepetysLook at you, locked and loaded, like Mae West of the Motor City.
Ruta SepetysSomehow I had to turn the salted peanuts in the cigar box into petits fours.
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