Maureen Johnson (born February 16, 1973) is an American author of young adult fiction. She has published ten young adult novels to date, including the Shades of London series and the Suite Scarlett series.
There is no normal. I've never met a normal person. The concept is flawed. It implies that there is only one way people are supposed to be, and that can't possible be true. Human experience is far too varied.
Salt. Wound. Together at last.
I read two mysteries a day when I was a kid. All of Agatha Christie, all of 'Sherlock Holmes. ' I've seen every single British detective show ever made.
This pool is a triumph of imagination. That's how you win at life, Gin. You have to imagine your way through. Never say something can't be done. There's always a solution, even if it's weird.
I sleep better knowing that a naked cork-eater is not sneaking around at night, stealing my underwear.
The whole "weak in the knees" thing,which she always thought was just some idiotic expression back from the golden age of idiotic expressions,was real. -Suite Scarlett
I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. "She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape," the police would say in the APB. "Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.
Tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
One thing," I said, when we had broken apart and the swirling feeling in my head subsided. "Maybe. . . don't tell your mom too much about this. I think she has ideas. " "What?" he asked, all innocence, as he put an arm around my shoulders and led me back toward his house. "Don't your parents cheer and stare when you make out with someone? Is that weird where you come from? I guess they don't get to see it much, though. From jail, I mean. " "Shut it, Weintraub. If I knock you down in the snow, these kids will swarm and eat you.
Debbie had to get up and slice me a thick piece of cake before she could answer. And I do mean thick. Harry Potter volume seven thick. I could have knocked out a burglar with this piece of cake. Once I tasted it, though, it seemed just the right size.
We Deveauxs preferred to talk you to death, rather than face you in physical combat.
She couldn't take her eyes off the boxers. Mostly, she had a view of the back, but he turned halfway when he looked over. She commanded herself not to look at the front flap, which, of course, was exactly what she honed in on. He spit and put his mouth under the tap to get some water. All while just wearing underwear. All while she just stared at the crucial spot of the Action Pants.
You'd been petting a stuffed dog?' she said 'A dead one?' 'It was a really well stuffed dog' I clarified. 'I have seen some bad taxidermy. This was top-notch work. It would have fooled anyone.
People always say they can't do things, that they're impossible. They just haven't been creative enough.
You could wear the same outfit every single day and no guy - who isn't gay - will notice.
This wasn't a position she wanted to be in. And yet. . . yet she knew that she was going to do it anyway.
Life is always going to be a series of ouch-making moments, and the question was, was I going to go all fetal position, or was I going to woman up? I went into fetal position on the bed to think about this. Fetal position turned out to be very comfortable.
Proximity doesn't breed familiarity.
A woman who shaves or otherwise depilates her pubic curls has a profound interest in recreational sex.
I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.