The Cousins

Everybody has secrets,' she says, taking a sip of her drink. 'That's nondebatable. The only question is whether you're keeping your own, or someone else's.

Leave the past where it is

I thought you’d look how you talk.” I’m not going to rise to the bait and ask her what she means, but she keeps going without prompting. “Like a constipated gnome.

The loneliness of that settles over my shoulders like a heavy blanket.

You gotta shoot your shot when it comes...Who knows if you'll get another chance?

Do you mean proactive like when you fucked my swim coach and knocked her up? Is that the kind of proactive I should be shooting for?

Chloe likes the happy hour game because, she says, high school boys are immature. Which is true. But sometimes I think we might be better off not knowing how much worse they can get.

Jonah, I hear that you, Milly, and Aubrey are doing well, and I am glad. Truly. I bear you no ill will, and while I suppose it is fanciful to imagine that you and your “cousins” might reciprocate that sentiment, I hope it is the case. From one imposter to another, I’d like to give you some words of advice: keep your parents far away from Anders Story’s new venture. I have a strong suspicion that it will one day, as they say, go up in flames. Family first, always. P.

It’s a little weird, maybe, to be carting all this around, but I don’t know these people. And when I don’t know something, I study it.

Everybody has secrets,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “That’s nondebatable. The only question is whether you’re keeping your own, or someone else’s.

It feels erratic ... But Alison knew what the problem was with her mother's heart: it was broken.

You have a very interesting look. Where are you from?' Ugh. That's marginally better than the What are you? question I get sometimes, but still gross. 'New York,' I say pointedly. 'You?' 'I mean originally,' he clarifies, and that's it. I'm done. 'New York,' I repeat, and stand up from my stool.

Anders turned, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Taking care of a problem.

Hey, Uncle Archer,” I say. My mother’s youngest brother’s eyes widen in alarm as I add, “Are you the one who brought us here?

The Story family is seriously messed up.

At first, all that registers is that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips curved in a smirk that should probably be annoying but isn’t. She’s wearing a bright-red sundress and sandals, with sunglasses holding back her hair and a large, man-sized watch on one wrist, and—oh.

I think he might be an ex now,' I say as she zips up the back. 'My boyfriend, I mean.' 'You think?' 'Well, for awhile he wasn't returning any of my texts. Now I'm not returning his, so...' I trail off, and she finishes, 'That's how it's done nowadays, huh? Goodness, I feel for you kids. Life is so complicated in the digital age. But he doesn't sound like the catch you deserve. And--there!' She smooths her hands over my hips and beams. 'Look at you! Perfect!

Your polishing off an entire plate of shrimp linguine when you have a shellfish allergy is what tipped me off.

Typical last weekend in June,” my driver, Frederico, says as we crawl through Saturday-morning Cape Cod traffic. He brakes as the light we were about to pass through turns yellow. “What can you do, right?” I grit my teeth. “You could’ve run that light, for starters.” Frederico waves a hand. “Not worth it. Cops are everywhere today.

He has Draco Malfoy white-blond hair swept to one side, and he’s wearing a crisp white shirt and a tie patterned with bright-blue fish.

A job promotion, I decide. That must be it. Which is excellent news, except for the part where she’s going to remind me that she got it through hard work and oh, by the way, why can’t I work harder at literally everything.

A lie of omission is still a lie. You told a bunch of half-truths, and you let me think we were…friends….

It's been creeping up on me ever since I got to the island what my relationship with Thomas really is: something that should've ended a few months after it began in eighth grade, when he started treating me like an afterthought. But it didn't. Because there was something almost comfortable about that. I was used to it.

I can’t force you to leave the island, of course, but I hope that you do. This is my home, and you are not welcome here.

filing her nails. I listen to the receptionist answer an incoming call

this dress is the most perfect article of clothing I've ever worn - not only because it's beautiful and fits me like a dream, but also because it has deep pockets that hold a phone and some lipstick without ruining the line of the dress.