“Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.”
“A pixie's true skin color is blue. Cookie Monster, Grover, and other lovable Muppets are also blue. Do not confuse the two. Muppets don't kill you. Usually.”
“Loving you is a full-time job. It's a great job, don't get me wrong. It's the best job in the universe. But it's not easy.”
“He's going macho again," Dev says, totally nonchalantly, while he unlocks the door.
He's always going macho," Is adds. "It must be the wolf thing."
I am not going macho. I am always macho," Nick says.”
“I promise you. You will survive this. Feel my hand. It is yours now, my queen. I promise you. I am yours.”
“We all live with our losses. We don't want to, but we can”
“She smirks."Are you attempting to stop me, little one?"
"Excuse me? Did you just call me 'little one'? What are you? Like, four feet tall?" I ask.”
“Zara, sympathy is just a good excuse to buy greeting cards and make sorry eyes and secretly gloat over how glad you are that you aren't the person whose crap is hanging out for everyone to see.”
“You are totally kissable. If I were a guy or gay or bi or something I would absolutely kiss you.”
“I swear his pheromones have my freaking name written on them. They hone in and attack.”
“Issie?“
After a second her voice comes out small and tired. “I'm not here.“
“Oh.“ I back up so I can stare at the bathroom door. No feet. “Then I should probably freak out because the toilet is talking back to me, huh? A little too many pain meds for Zara today.”
“She is really nice and everything, but totally not made of awesome the way Issie is.”
“Reality isn‘t round, it‘s flat. There are edges where you can fall off and this October when I moved to Maine, I fell off one.”
“Why are there no names for the abscence of things? Why is there no name for the abscence of humanity? ”
“I lean back down and press my lips against his" you're going to be safe. i swear.i'll keep you safe."
his lips move beneath mine." I love you." his eyes are strong for a second, intense Nick eyes."I will always love you no matter what."
"we'll always love each other," i say”
“Zara. We all need to rescue and we all need to be rescued.”
“Monsters? Why? Because we admit to the pain we cause? Admit we like it?...”
“It's just him and me and cookies.”
“Hormonal ones, I am right here. Me. The old lady otherwise known as your grandmother”
“You cloak your evil, your violence, in the mask of good. I am just evil.”
“Dude, you tried to kidnap her to bait her mom into coming to you. Then you tried to turn her mom into a pixie. Come on. I mean, no offense, but you are not Daddy of the Year stuff here.‖ Issie steps a little forward. ―Plus, you didn‘t even show up on the scene for what? Sixteen years? That‘s lame. Seriously. That is very deadbeat dad stuff right there.”
“Nick saunters into the gym and my heart basically stops. He’s ridiculously cute in his PE shorts and dark green T-shirt; and people that good-looking seem vulnerable, almost like they can’t be real.
He’s real, though. He’s all dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes. Okay. His eyebrows, like Devyn’s nose, are a little big and if you stare at him long enough you realize that his lips are a bit lopsided. I have kissed his lips. I have felt his breath in my ear and I know without a doubt that he’s real, even if he is a werewolf. The massive muscles in his legs redefine themselves as he walks toward me. He waves a late pass at the coach and yells, “Sorry I’m late. I’ve got a pass.”
“Not a problem, buddy,” Coach yells back. He and Nick are all jock bonding.
Nick pockets the note, which is probably a fake. I can smell his deodorant even though he’s still far away. There are these things called pheromones, odors that guys give off to attract women. I swear his pheromones have my freaking name written on them. They hone in and attack.
“You are getting all swoony faced,” Issie tells me with her singsong voice. She pokes me in the ribs with her elbow, gently. She turns to Devyn, who is smiling like a crazy man, just hanging back in his wheelchair watching the scene. “Dev. Look at Zara. She’s got her lovey-dovey look on.”
As Is gazes at Devyn with her own lovey-dovey look, he says, “Yeah. Teen love. So obvious. So hormonal.”
“I am not hormonal.” I fake glare at him.”
“You want some breakfast?”
“Home fries?”
There are potatoes in a bag on the counter, the Yukon gold kind. “Check.”
He smiles again. “Poached eggs?”
I open the fridge, stare inside it. A carton of eggs wait happily on the shelf, ready to be cracked. “Double check.”
“Orange juice?”
I pull out the plastic container. “Apple cranberry.”
He mock frowns, pulls himself off the couch, strides over. “Oh, I don’t know. Apple cranberry is so . . .”
“So what?”
“It’s not really manly.”
“What? There are manly juices? Orange is more manly than apple cranberry?”
He grabs the edge of the counter and leans back, stretching out his calves. I plop the juice container on the counter. He looks at me. His eyes are confused.
“Really, Nick. That is silly. You’re already having poached eggs.”
“So?”
“So how are poached eggs manly?”
He tilts his head. “They aren’t manly? Quiche isn’t manly, I know. But that’s egg in pie form. Poached eggs should be fine. Although fried eggs are probably the manliest. Maybe we should fry them.”
“Then my cell phone buzzes again. I can’t quite get it out of my pocket because my arm is so bloody. Astley reaches down and pulls it out for me.
“You’re blushing,” he says.
“You just reached in my pocket. It’s kind of intimate.”
He smiles a wicked smile and hands me the phone. “There is candy in here as well.”
“Skittles,” I explain. “I like them.”
“He laughs and pulls out a big Ziploc bag of something dark and round. Cookies!
I lunge forward. “Are these—?”
“Chocolate with peanut butter chips,” he finishes for me.
I keep staring at his lips, but I slide open the baggie. “I love these! My mom always made these.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You told me once.”
He sits down with me and before I can get too heart fluttery he pulls out a cookie and lifts it toward my mouth, teasing me. “Do you want it?”
I open my lips. He slides the cookie in a little bit. I chomp down. It melts on my tongue. “It is sooo good.”
“So there’s this annual dance in a couple of weeks.”
“The Winter Ball,” I interrupt. “There have been signs up everywhere.”
“You want to go?”
I think about it for a half second. “Will you dress up?”
He nods.
I move forward so my hands are flat on the towel and my face is much closer to his face. Something inside my chest warms up like a nice kind of heartburn and I say, “And will we slow dance?”
He nods again. His bottom lip turns in toward his mouth for a second, just disappears and then comes back.
Stretching out my spine so my lips are nearly touching his I say, “And will you press yourself against me and we’ll move really close together and then your hand will stretch out across the back of my head and your fingers will wrap into my hair and then . . .”
He doesn’t nod. He just tilts his head down, moves his fingers into my hair, and his lips touch mine in a forever kiss. His lips are soft and hard all at once. His breath mixes with my breath. Everything inside of me whooshes out.”
“We’ll fight them. We took down my dad. We’ve taken down so many since then. We’ll take down these jokesters too.”
“I will never let anything happen to you,” Nick growls into my hair. “I will die before you get hurt again. So help me God, Zara. I will die."
“Me too.”
“What?”
“I will die before I let anyone hurt you or Issie or Dev or Gram or . . .” I stop and pull my head away from his chest so I can look up at him. “This list is getting kind of long and melodramatic, isn’t it?”
He laughs. His hand moves slowly up my spine. He starts leaning down for a kiss. “Yeah. It is.”
“Hands grab me, steady me. I jerk back, but they are surprisingly gentle. He doesn’t smile as I turn to see his face. He just stands there, letting me inspect him. He’s tall with a wide forehead and dark blond hair that’s cut short. His green eyes are deeply set beneath that forehead. His lips are wide and rugged like the rest of him. His hands have huge knuckles like he’s a boxer or arthritic or hits walls. He looks like he did when he pulled me out of the car, but stronger, taller somehow. He must be completely healed. He looks my age and he looks good, like the guy in high school that everyone, even the teachers, fall in love with.”
“I meet his eyes. They are deep and almost mesmerizing. Did I say deep before? Yeah, right. That’s not it. They have a pull to them, like currents, like Velcro or something, totally captivating, like when you see a convertible flipped over on the highway and there are body bags and you don’t want to look but you look because you can’t look, because you can’t not look, because you are just riveted and . . .
Stop. Just stop.”
“Nick leans down and kisses my eyelids. “Loving you, Zara, is a full-time job. It’s a great job, don’t get me wrong. It’s the best job in the universe. But it is not easy, because you tend to . . .”
“Get hurt?” Betty suggests. “Find trouble? Pass out? Break arms?”
“All of the above.” Nick laughs.
My hand finds Nick’s wrist and I grab onto its thickness. “You know, I’m the patient here. Where’s the bedside manner? Where’s the sympathy?”
“Zara, sympathy is just a good excuse to buy greeting cards and make sorry eyes and secretly gloat over how glad you are that you aren’t the person whose crap is hanging out there for the world to see,” Betty says.”
“She did not delude herself into expecting Francis to love her. He had never been taught how to love, but had an arresting way of looking pleased at Adah's achievements.”
“Within families, you’re stuck with the character they think you are, whatever you do. You become a war hero and all that your parents ever talk about is something supposedly funny you used to do when you were in nursery school.”
“How many people live in the moment? A few? How many people live for tomorrow at the sacrifice of today?" Dreyfus opened his fist to reveal it to be empty. "...When tomorrow is never a guarantee.”
“The two women looked at me as if I were the Messiah returning with their personal salvations sealed in separate envelopes.”
“Do you think,” she said, “instead of having sex, we could make love?”
“I’d love that,” Ken whispered.”
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