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She sat in the dew-damp grass and ripped up clumps of it, tossing them in the air and feeling vaguely guilty about it. Some gnome ought to pop out of the tree and scold her for torturing the lawn.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Feelings
Sat
Torturing
Pops
Tossing
Grass
Vaguely
Guilty
Lawn
Air
Damp
Ought
Lawns
Clumps
Tree
Dew
Scold
Feeling
Ripped
Gnome

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The first boy I fell in love with didn't know I loved him, but he managed to break my heart anyway.
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A stray dog, I might understand, she said. But this? You are too softhearted. No, Mabry, Ravus said. I am not. He looked in Val's direction. I think she wants to die. Maybe you can help her after all, Mabry said. You're good at helping people die.
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Allow me to explain how my whole life has prepared me for this moment. I am used to girls screaming, and your screams – will be sweeter than another’s cries of love.
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Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.
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A girl like that, Grandad said, perfumes herself with ozone and metal filings.
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No trouble ever got fixed late at night, he said. Midnight is for regrets.
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The truth is messy. It's raw and uncomfortable. You can't blame people for preferring lies.
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It makes you a different person, to not have a past. It eats away at who you are, until what’s left is all construct, all artifice.
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He runs to the sink to spit it out. I grin. There’s nothing quite as funny as someone else’s misery.
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Nevermore, Lolli said. That's what Luis calls it, because there are three rules: Never more than once a day, never more than a pinch at a time, and never more than two days in a row.
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If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then surely you should be friend to my friend.
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I drive him to school, then I break back into Barron's house. I'm the best kind of thief, the kind that leaves behind items equal in value to those he's stolen. Then I go home and shave until my skin is as slick as any slickster's.
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We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That's why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.
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If I'm not a murderer, asked Corny, how come I keep killing people?
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I'm afraid that whatever I touch is spoilt by the contact. I'm not scared of being spoiled, Val said.
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The row of dolls watched her impassively from the bookshelf, their tea party propriety almost certainly offended.
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It feels like the whole world has turned upside down. There aren't any more rules. Hey,' I say to Sam, because if the world's gone crazy, then I guess I can do whatever I want. Guess what? I'm a worker.
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She wears trouble like a crown. If she ever falls in love, she’ll fall like a comet, burning the sky as she goes.
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I'm not good at having friends. I mean, I can make myself useful to people. I can fit in. I get invited to parties and I can sit at any table I want in the cafeteria. But actually trusting someone when they have nothing to gain from me just doesn't make sense. All friendships are negotiations of power.
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He wondered whether growing up was learning that most stories turned out to be lies.
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