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Uh, yeah, I do. The scythe was a little tricky at first, but—much like golf—turns out it’s all in the swing.

Rachel Vincent

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Rachel Vincent
Golf
Like
Yeah
Turns
Littles
Scythes
Little
Scythe
Tricky
Firsts
Swing
First
Swings
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Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.
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You think I need to be rescued? I think it doesn't hurt to let someone else do the rescuing every now and then, when your own armor starts to get banged up.
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So what does Tod look like? Whitewashed skeleton skulking around in a black cape and hood? Carrying a scythe? 'Cause I'm thinking that would cause mass panic in the hospital. ..... Do you chase after a funeral processions in a long, dirty dress, hair trailing behind you in the wind? I shot him a mock frown. Have you been following me again?
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Kaylee and Nash are like those rocks that ancient cave people used to make fire. Bang them together, and you get sparks. Sabine said. Let's never again use the phrase 'bang them together' in reference to my brother and my girlfriend, Tod mumbled.
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Well that's too bad, because this is an assassination. No, this is an execution. The difference would be...? Assassination is murder. Execution is justice.
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Now if you’ll excuse me, Death waits for no man. Except me.
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He shrugged, looking right into my eyes. Right now, this is all I feel. He held our intertwined hands up for me to see and I wanted to look away, but I couldn't break the hold his gaze had on me, like he could see more than anyone else saw. Things I couldn't see myself.
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If you want to call yourself my friend, you should know that position comes with boundaries. Sabine frowned. I'm no good with boundaries. Yes, and the ocean is damp. Can we be done with the understatements now?
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If Eastlake High School were the universe, I would be one of the moons circling Planet Emma, constantly hidden by her shadow, and glad to be there. Nash Hudson would be one of the stars: too bright to look at, too hot to touch and at the center of his own solar system.
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Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.
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My aunt and overprivileged cousin only recognize two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren’t glitter, well, that only left one other option.
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But if there was a protocol for how to say goodbye to your newly ex-boyfriend's brother, right after you kissed him and probably sent your ex into the arms of his willing ex-girlfriend, I didn't know what it was.
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Her dark-eyed glare narrowed on me. You could have least given him a shirt, Kaylee. Like you're an expert on when it's appropriate to wear a shirt. Sabine bristled. This seems headed into girl-fight territory, Tod said. Should I make popcorn?
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Alec rolled beautiful brown eyes. No fair playing the death card. No fair having it to play.
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Jace. This can't happen. I closed my eyes, thinking it would be easier to say without him looking back at me. But it wasn't. This isn't about us. I can't leave Marc.
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So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?
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Marc didn’t want to win by default. He wanted to win for real. Forever.
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You already said that, Sabine said, folding the wrapper back from her burger. You said it a lot, actually. Which supports my theory that apologies are basically pointless. They don't fix anything, right? That's why I rarely bother.
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Then strong, warm arms wrapped around me from behind. I've got you, Tod whispered in my ear.
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In the end, it only comes down to one thing: choosing the one you can’t live without.
Rachel Vincent