Lisa McMann (born February 27, 1968) is an American author.
And then they kiss. Slowly, gently. Because with the right person, sometimes kissing feels like healing.
He kisses her. She kisses him. They kiss.
Carrie doesn't seem to talk about anything with sharp edges. Maybe she's afraid they might poke her and then she'd burst.
It's just the end of some things. And the beginning of others.
Jacian Obregon. It sounds like a melody. Or a tragedy.
She gets to school late. Bashful gives her a tardy, and won't reconsider. Janie always hated Bashful. Stupidest. Dwarf. Ever.
With practice, you will master your own dreams.
Just stand. Bend. Balance.
He moves like a dancer.
That was the goth stage, where I decided I'd never get the girl of my dreams because of my scars. Not to mention my hairstyle. (pause) But then she slammed a door handle into my gut. And when a girl does that to a boy, it means she likes him.
Maybe you don't have to remember something for it to be true. For it to exist.
Captain looks at Janie closely. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she says. "You're gonna have a heck of a shiner by the time the day's over. Did you black our?" "I. . . uh. . . " Janie shrugs. "I really have no idea. " "Yes, I think she did. " Cabel cuts in. "I'm going to need to watch her all day. And probably all night, too," he adds. Very, very seriously. The captain throws a rubber eraser at him and sends him out for coffee.
I highly regret this day in advance.
Do you still love me, Janie?' Janie stares at him, incredulous. 'Yes, of course! I don't say it lightly. ' 'Say it lightly in my ear,' he demands. She smiles, rests her soft cheek on his scratchy one, and whispers it. 'I love you, Cabe.
No rash decisions. No big commitments. Each day as it comes.
Once you read something, you can't erase it from your brain.
Oh baby," he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers. The bathroom door clicks shut. She stays there for a long time. He's pulling his hair out.
And he's pressing into her and she into him, bodies shivering, like they are two scared, lost children, starving, starving to be touched, to be held, by someone, anyone, the first one they can find who seems familiar enough, safe enough, strong enough to rescue them. They breathe, heavy. Hard. Their fingers strain at cotton. And then they slow down. Stop. Hold. Rest. Before one of them, or both, begins to sob. Before they break another piece that needs to be fixed.
She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself. Because she thinks she's in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now. She chooses the harder one. And knocks on the door.
You're asking for trouble, Hannagan," he growls. "And you would be. . . . ?" Janie asks. She giggles. "Trouble.