Ava rinsed her mouth with water as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her large woodsy-green eyes were filling with revenge. How dare you flaunt your unborn baby in my face. Her eyes darkened in the mirror. And to watch that fat demon make three after what he did to me? What kind of man are you? Tell me? Who the F**k are you? You f*****g son of a whoring bitch!

“Are you okay in there?” asked Michelle outside the door.

“Just washing up,” replied Ava in a sing-songy-manner. She then rinsed her mouth one last time and shut off the water. As she reached for the decorative hand towel, she noticed a bottle of nail loish and an old-fashioned, sharp metal nail file on the marble countertop.

Ava picked up the knife-like nail file with all her might as she slowly reached for the doorknob.

“Trust me, it gets better in a few weeks,” shouted Michelle.

Ava’s large green eyes were turning black with murderous rage. . .

“You really are sick in there, aren’t you?”


“Ava. . . are you okay?”


Then suddenly Ava SPRUNG OPEN the door, leapt out of the bathroom and shoved the metal file into Michelle’s face. In response, Michelle bent backwards, terrified.

“I can’t believe they still make these.” Ava stood cool and calm as a Druid tree.

Michelle breathed heavily for a few moments. . . then started laughing, recovering from the false alarm.

“Oh, did I scare you? Bless your heart.”

Michelle continued laughing at herself. “You scared the hell out of me. How silly?”

Ava joined in on the laughter. “How rude of me. I am so sorry.”

“And yes, they do still make those. I`ll grab you one next time I go to Piggly Wiggly.”


-The raping of Ava DeSantis
Page 223-224





**Recommended for ages 17+ due to sexual content and language, mature subject matter**New Adult ContemporaryLost.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered a tattoo on his rib cage, written in elegant script. It’s a paragraph, more like a string of words in a poem. I trace each word with my finger, trying to decipher their meaning.

For a passion that’s 
Able to shine like ours
Blessed are we to
Each other. 

I`m in shock that clean-cut All-American Boy Drew Callahan has a tattoo. And that he got it after we were together.

“What does it mean?” I ask him, slowing skimming the words, each individual letter with my index finger.

He seems surprised by my question. “Read it again,” he says quietly. “Slowly”.

I do so, realizing that the first letter if every sentence spells my name. Reminding me of the marshmallow note he left for me. I`m shocked. Over-whelmed. Touched so deep, tears form in my eyes, and he kisses them away as they fall onto my cheeks. “I wrote those words for you,” he murmurs against my mouth before he kisses my lips. “You’ve turned me into a poet, Fable.”

God, he’s so sweetly romantic I want to lose myself in him forever.

– Page 75, Chapter 8.





I`ll Give You The Sun – Jandy Nelson




He keeps stopping to pick up rocks, examining them, and then either touching them back or stuffing them in his sweatshirt pocket, which is starting to sag with the weight. I stand by when he does this, wanting to ask what he’s searching for. Wanting to ask why he followed me. Wanting to ask about the telescope and if he can see the stars during the daytime. Wanting to ask where he’s from and what his name is and if he surfs and how old he is and what school he’s going to next fall. A few times I try to form a question so it sounds causal and normal, but each time the words get caught somewhere in my throat and never make it out. Finally, I give up and take out my invisible brushes and just start painting in my head. That’s when it occurs to me that maybe the rocks are weighing him down so he doesn’t rise into the air…

We walk and walk through the gray ashy dusk ans the forest starts to fall asleep. The trees lie down side by side, the creek halts, the plants sink back into the earth, the animals switch places with their shadows, and then , so do we.

When we break out of the woods onto our road, he spins around. “Holy hella shit! That’s the longest I`ve gone without talking. Like in my life! It was like holding my breath! I was having a contest with myself. Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Dude!” he cries, “Do you know those are  the first words you’ve said?” I didn’t. “Man, You’re like the Buddha or something. My mom’s a Buddhist. She goes to these silent retreats. She should just hang out with you instead. Oh, oh, not counting, of course, ‘I`m a bloody artist, a bloody mess, mate;” He says this last part with a heavy English accent, then cracks up.

He heard me! Talking to the trees! So much blood’s rushing and gushing to my head it might blow straight off my neck. All the silence of out walk is gurgling madly out of him now and I can tell he is someone who laughs a lot, the way it;s taking him over so easily and lighting him all up, and even though he’s laughing at me, it’s making me feel okay, accepted, and making me feel a little bubble- headed as laughter starts to fizz up in me too. I mean, it was supremely funny,me yammering away in an English accent all alone like that, and then he says it again, his accent super- thick, “I`ma  bloody artist,” and then I say, “A bloody mess mate,” and something gives way and I`m laughing outright and he says it again, and I do, and then we’re both really laughing, then the doubled- over kind, and it’s ages before we calm down, because each time one of us does, the other says, “`m a bloody mess, mate,” and the whole thing starts all over again.

When we finally get it back together, I realize I have no idea what just happened to me. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I feel like I just flew or something.

He points to my pad. “So I guess you just talk in there, is that it?”

“Pretty much,” I say. We’re under a streetlamp and I`m trying not to stare but it’s hard. I wish the world would stick like a clock so I could look at him for as long as I want. There’s something going on in his face right now, something very bright trying to get out- a dam keeping back a wall of light. His soul might be a sun. I`ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul.

– Page 88-89-90.
I`ll give you the sun, Jandy Nelson


Jandy Nelson talking about her book.

This Song Will Save Your Life- Leila Sales


You think it’s so easy to change yourself. You think it’s so easy, but it’s not. True, things don’t stay the same forever : couches are replaced, boys leave, you discover a song, your body becomes forever scarred. And with each of these moments, you change and change again, your true self spinning, shifting positions- but always at last it returns to you, like a dancer on the floor. Because throughout it all, you are still always, you: beautiful and bruised, known and unknowable. And isn’t that- just you- enough?

The following Thursday night, I was in the middle of my set, and everything was going smoothly. People jumping around to the Rolling Stones. Vicky was there with Dave, and they had claimed dance space right in the middle of the floor. Char was at the bar, talking to some college-aged girl with highlighted, flat – ironed hai, but I don’t mind, because he has already pressed his fingers into my lower back earlier, which meant I was basically guaranteed yet another night of getting home at dawn. I was wearing the rhinestone pumps that Vicky insister I bu, one of my dad’s old band t-shirts that I had resewn to fit me, and a multicolored scarf that Vicky had lent me. Even Mel hadn’t found anything to criticize with tonight’s outfit.

Everything was going smoothly. Until the door opened a bit before midnight and Emily Wallace, Petra Davies, and Ashley Mersky walked in.

I was thrown into shock, like a queen whose castle’s ironclad fortress has somehow been breached. What are they doing here? This wasn’t high school. This wasn’t driver’s ed. This was Start. This was mine. 

Emily and her friends hadn’t noticed me yet. They clustered in a tight circle, looking around the room, pointing and giggling. I could tell they had gotten all dressed up for their big night out, like this was a school dance. Emily wore  a tight black strapless dress and fake eyelashes. Her make-up was perfect.

They looked ridiculous here, obviously high-school girls seemed as make – believe adults. Ridiculous, but beautiful. There’s a reason why Emily is a model. There’s a reason why  Ashley’s chest was voted ‘best rack’ by the guys’ lacrosse team when she was only a freshman. Because they are the beautiful ones.

This song was winding down, so I put on my headphones to find a new one, but everything I tried sounded suddenly out of place. I tried to focus on my computer, but my eyes kept flickering up, and I was terrified that I would find Emily smirking at me. I wanted to drop my headphones and let the song play out while I ran straight out the door and all the way home.

But you are a professional.

I transitioned  into the Smiths’ ‘How Soon Is Now?’ I messed up the beat matching, so it sounded disorienting and wrong, but I didn’t even care. I scanned the room again for Emily and her friends. They were waiting in line at the bar. Still not looking at me. But they could look at me any time. At any time, I could be discovered.

And then what?

Pretty Little Liars-Book 1


Ezra called on Devon Arliss next and she started her speech. As Ezra turned to the side and put his finger on his chin, listening, Aria throbbed. Aria wanted him so badly it made her whole body buzz.
No, wait. That was just her cell phone, which was nestled in her oversize lime-green tote next to her foot.
The thing kept buzzing. Aria slowly reached down and pulled it out. One new text message:


     Maybe he fools around with students all the time. A lot of teachers do….Just ask your dad! –A

Aria quickly snapped her cellphone shut. But then she opened it and read the message again. And again. As she did, the little hairs on her arms stood straight up.
No one in the rooms had their phones out-not Hanna, nor Noel, nobody. And no one was looking at her, either. She even looked up on the ceiling and out the classroom door, but nothing seemed out of place. Everything was quite and still.
“This can’t be happening,” Aria whispered.
The only person who knew about Aria’s dad was…..Alison. And she’d sworn on her grave she wouldn’t tell a sou. Was she back?

– (Pretty little liars- Sara Shepard.
Book 1, page 139)