Ally Carter (born Sarah Leigh Fogleman on January 1, 1974) is an American author of young adult fiction and adult-fiction novels.
Don't believe everything you read. It's very difficult to be accepting of our own bodies. This topic deserves it's own book, but since I'm not qualified to write it, I won't. Instead I'll just say this: The pictures staring out at you from the supermarket checkout stands, the images we are all supposed to aspire to? They lie
We're going to be okay. " Here's the thing about being a spy: sometimes all you have are your lies. They protect your cover and keep your secrets, and right then I needed to believe that it was true even when all the facts said otherwise.
I think it's kinda nice. ' And I did. my mom isn't famous for her pies. No, she's famous for defusing a nuclear device in Brussels with only a pair of cuticle scissors and a ponytail holder. Somehow, at the moment, pies seemed cooler.
You see, Greg, my mother is going through a feline phase. Blinky is a Persian,' Hale said simply, as if that should explain everything. 'Binky has a nasty habit of shedding all over the living room furniture, you see. ' Gregory Wainwright nodded as if he understood perfectly. 'And so we had to get new living room furniture, which, unfortunately, does not go with the Monet. ' Kat stood there for a moment, staring into that small window of the world where someone would tire of a Monet simply because it clashed with the couch.
They promised me that this would be my home. That girls like you would always be my sisters. But they weren't my sisters, were they?" Catherine asked, but then the lunacy broke, a quick and fleeting crack, and through it I saw anger and bitterness and rage.
So this is the young man who has intentions toward my little girl. " Bobby shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. "It is not fun on this side of the table, is it, Robert?" Uncle Eddie huffed, and Kat had to remember that once upon a time her mother had been a dark-haired girl in that kitchen, and her dad had been the stray she'd brought home. She watched the two men looking at Hale as if they'd never before laid eyes on him. "He's better-looking than the last vagabond I had to take in," Eddie said, standing and carrying empty bowls to the sink. "I'll give him that.
Excuse me, Abigail, but whose shift did she get away during?' Townsend asked with a glare. 'Excuse me, Townsend, but who was supposed to booby-trap the doors?' 'I'm an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service,' Townsend said, indignant. 'I do not do booby traps.
So you're Zach. " Townsend didn't even try to hide the judgement in his voice as he looked Zach up and down in some sort of silent but dangerous examination. Zach huffed but smiled. "so you're Townsend. " The two of them stared for a long time, wordless. It felt like I was watching a documentary on the Nature Channel, something about alpha males in the wild.
Oh you’re heist-drunk Kitty Kat. And you have been since the Henley.
Listen to me, Cammie. There are things in this life…in this world…There are things that you don’t want to remember. ” - Rachel Morgan
Even the longest con was never more than an assortment of moments that were in themselves very very short.
Every head turned to see two more security guards appear, each holding a Bagshaw by the back of the neck (which might have been considerably less conspicuous had the Bagshaws not been dressed as chimney sweeps). Kat turned back to Hale. 'The Mary Poppins?' 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.
You should always trust the instincts of children.
I know in the spy movies it always looks really cool when the operative goes from a maid's uniform to a slinky, sexy, ballgown in the amount of time it takes an elevator to climb three floors. Well, I don't know how it is for TV spies, but I can tell you that even with Velcro, the art of the quick change is one that must take a lot of practice (not to mention better lighting than one is likely to find in a tunnel that was once part of the underground railroad).
What are they after?” Kat asked. “Hard to say,” Hale said; again, he eyed the room. “Who is that?” Macey asked. “The reason I wasn’t flirting with you,” Hale told her.
You were right, Hale. It was a bad job. It was a bad call. You were right to leave. " "Kat. . . " Hale tried to reach for her, but even in the sand, Kat was quick and sure on her feet, and she moved nimbly away, leaving Hale with nothing but a fistful of salty air. "Thanks for coming back and helping me find her and all, but. . . " She looked at Gabrielle, who stood leaning against Simon, still bruised and almost broken. " I think I've got to take it from here. ". . . . She was sure right up until the point when Hale said, "No.
Just so you know Gallagher Girl,' he whispered softly, 'I'm going to kiss you now.
You still don't get it, do you, Margaret?' Kat smiled almost sadly. 'We never had to steal the Antony. All we had to do was get it next to the Cleopatra and switch the signs.
Two days after my dad's funeral, my mom went on a mission. I never understood it until then--that sometimes a spy doesn't need a cover so much as she needs a shield.
Because sometimes not liking someone is easier.