A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

The people you love weren’t algebra: to be calculated, subtracted, or held at arm’s length across a decimal point.

But sometimes remembering isn’t for yourself, sometimes you do it just to make someone else smile. Those lies were allowed.

I'm not sure I'm the good girl i once thought i was . I've lost her along the way

He smiled, put his hands on the back of her neck, fingers in her hair, and leaned in to press his forehead against hers. He’d told her before that he did it to take away half her sadness, half her headache, half her nerves before her Columbia interview. Because half less of a bad thing meant there was room for half good.

women can be just as dangerous as men.

I’m irrationally serious.” Pip smiled, holding the Tupperware out to him. “And I made muffins.” “Like bribery muffins?” “That’s what the recipe said, yeah.

Pip wished she was strong enough, but she’d learned that she wasn’t invincible; she too could break.

What's wrong with me? ... I might seem like the ideal student: homework always in early, every extra credit and extra curricular I can get my hands on, the good girl and the high achiever. But I realized something just now: it's not ambition, not entirely. It's fear. Because I don't know who I am when I'm not working, when I'm not focused on or totally consumed by a task. Who am I between the projects and the assignments, when there's nothing to do? I haven't found her yet and it scares me. Maybe that's why, for my senior capstone project this year, I decided to solve a murder.

I’ve already learned my lesson here: when you catch someone lying about a murdered girl, you go ask them why.

They were each other’s crutch to lean on when life got too much to carry alone.

Your efficiency offends me.

He kissed her, and she glowed with that feeling. The one with wings. “You bring the rain down on them, Pip.” “I will.

We’re a team, remember. You and me.

As if they think I don’t already know. I came out of the womb knowing how to do academic references.

And in the dead silence of the night, Pip whispered, “Who’s taking the picture?

Because half less of a bad thing meant there was room for half good.

Maybe laughter was one of the very first things you lost after something like that.

I still think this is reckless and I’m crapping myself, but –’ he paused, flashing her a small smile – ‘we’re partners in crime after all. That means partners no matter what.

Can you stop bleeding all over the murder board, please

Pip knew a great many things; she knew that hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia was the technical term for the fear of long words, she knew that babies were born without kneecaps,

I don’t see the logic in putting a nose hole in your nose hole,” said Pip. “Another Pip quote for the books.” Cara feigned writing it down in midair. “What was the one that got me the other day?” “The sausage one.” Pip sighed. “Oh yeah,” Cara snorted. “So, Laur, I was asking Pip which pajamas she wanted to wear, and she just casually says, ‘It’s sausage to me.’ And didn’t realize why that was a weird response.” “It’s not that weird,” said Pip. “My grandparents from my first dad are German. ‘It’s sausage to me’ is a German saying; just means ‘I don’t care.

She was on a high cliff edge somewhere between laughing and crying and screaming.

You go around asking dangerous questions, girl, you’re going to find some dangerous answers.

Hello, pickle!” her dad said loudly as Pip and Cara made their way downstairs. “Lauren and I have decided that I should come to your kilometer party too.” “Calamity, Dad. And over my dead brain cells.

I found these statistics: 80% of missing people are found in the first twenty-four hours. 97% are found in the first week, and 99% of cases are resolved in the first year. That leaves just 1%. 1% of people who disappear are never found. And just 0.25% of all missing persons cases have a fatal outcome.

Ravi hated her, but he would be safe now.