teen

I noticed him right away. No, it wasn__ his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn__ the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn__ saunter. He didn__ amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.

Oh diary, I love her, I love her, I love her so much. Jordana is the most amazing person I have ever met. I could eat her. I could drink her blood. She's the only person I would allow to be shrunk to microscopic size and explore me in a tiny submersible machine. She is wonderful and beautiful and sensitive and funny and sexy. She's too good for me, she's too good for anyone! All I could do was let her know. I said: "I love you more than words. And I am a big fan of words.

I caught his hand. __hat do you want me to do?__eaning down, he kissed the pulse beating on my neck just above the damaged skin. __omorrow, I need you to die.

Vane__ lips tightened to suppress a smile. __hy so hostile, love?___ou whacked me on the head with a ball!___ou deserved it.

She was beautiful, but her youth, the very awkwardness of her age, prevented her from flaunting it.

Do you think we can be friends?_ I asked.He stared up at the ceiling. __robably not, but we can pretend.

That day and night, the bleeding and the screaming, had knocked something askew for Esme, like a picture swinging crooked on a wall. She loved the life she lived with her mother. It was beautiful. It was, she sometimes thought, a sweet emulation of the fairy tales they cherished in their lovely, gold-edged books. They sewed their own clothes from bolts of velvet and silk, ate all their meals as picnics, indoors or out, and danced on the rooftop, cutting passageways through the fog with their bodies. They embroidered tapestries of their own design, wove endless melodies on their violins, charted the course of the moon each month, and went to the theater and the ballet as often as they liked--every night last week to see Swan Lake again and again. Esme herself could dance like a faerie, climb trees like a squirrel, and sit so still in the park that birds would come to perch on her. Her mother had taught her all that, and for years it had been enough. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and she had begun to catch hints and glints of another world outside her pretty little life, one filled with spice and poetry and strangers.

Throughout it all, you are still, always, you: beautiful and bruised, known and unknowable.

Everything was brighter and more colorful in those years, as if my childhood was ending in an explosion of unreal passion that made my life feel sacred and holy.

As a man, I instantly became aware of the gold in her hair, her height measured against mine, and how easily she'd fit in my arms. ~Ren

I know hate is a strong word and everything, but its okay: we're teenagers.

Something inside of me began to tear.

Fury ignited behind my breastbone , a hot glow like coals blooming into something sharp and dangerous. It was the same old crap- someone thinking they can push you around because you're young, because you're helpless. You had to just sit there and take it because you were under a certain number , because you weren't a real person yet; you could be picked up and dropped like a toy, left behind or thrown away...

Most insensible, corrupt, cheap, disrespectful young girls run after bad, rude, cocky, nonsensical boys, but a mature, educated, thoughtful, virtuos lady opts for a wise, well breed, experienced, humble, modest gentleman.

Sometimes it's hard for me to understand that people can believe in me, that they can trust that I'll be anything more than the sum of the skeletons in my closet. But I can be. And I am.