What do you think?
Rate this book
272 pages, Hardcover
First published September 23, 2014
[Kayla was sitting in her room, writing. Her mom barged in without knocking.]
"We're going out," the woman said.
Kayla didn't turn around. "You're supposed to knock.
"I don't need to knock in my own home."
"Your home. Of course," Kayla sneered. "Yours and his now. Maybe he should be able to walk in on me without knocking, too. I bet he'd like to."
"Kayla, [...] unless you have something sensible to say, don't go there. [...] Do you have something to say, Kayla?"
"No, Jessica," Kayla said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not at all. After all, I'm sure a man who is fifteen years younger than you, and only ten years younger than me, has no interest at all in walking in on me."
[...]"Listen to me, Kayla, if Arnie has done anything... questionable... you tell me. Otherwise, you stop spreading poison."
"Questionable? Has he done anything questionable? You mean, aside from moving into my house and sleeping with my mother in my father's bed?"
A mist pressed close, all around me, so close that it was more like a blanket than a fog. The mist was the color of yellowed teeth and it moved without a breath of breeze, moved as if it had a will. The mist swirled slowly, sensuously, and it touched me. I don't mean that it was merely near to me and therefore inevitably touched me; I mean it touched me. It felt my face like a blind person might. It crept up the sleeves of my sweater and down the neckline. It found its insinuating way under rough denim and seeped, almost like a liquid, along bare skin. Fingerless, it touched me. Eyeless, it gazed at me. It heard the beating of my heart and swept in and out of my mouth which each quick and shallow breath.
~Thank you Hardie Grant Egmont Australia for sending me this copy!~
"He is not indifferent, that's the thing. His too-near voice that seems always to be whispering in my ear is held to a standard of cool detachment, but his eyes and his mouth and his forehead and the way he swallows all speak of reflected pain."
"I wondered if Messenger had come to this same duty by a similar path. I believed he had. I doubted he would ever tell me the how and the why of it, but in that I proved to be mistaken. It would be a long time coming, but in the end I would know all."
"And, in unworthy self-pity, I needed to cry for myself, because surely whatever I had done to deserve this, whatever had wrung soul-searing sobs from me, it must surely have been a mistake, an accident..."