Mandy Hubbard > Quotes

“We are traveling down a path with no happy ending, and it's too late to turn around.”
― Mandy Hubbard, But I Love Him

“But who bothers looking beyond the surface? Who even knows anything about Cinderella's Prince Charming - other than he's a handsome prince?”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“You don't have to sleep, you don't have to dream, to have nightmares.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“Why do yo keep doing this?"
"Because I've wanted to be with you for three years, okay? That's why.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“You were twisting your wet hair up into a ponytail, and then you saw us, and you smiled...."
"Then why didn't you-"
"Because you were smiling for him. And I would have had to have been an idiot to get in between that.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“He rests his lips against my temple. 'You need to figure out what you really want from this - from us.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“Sometimes people simply believe the things because it's easier that way. But it doesn't make it the truth.”
― Mandy Hubbard

“Just being near the water makes me ache for it, makes my skin tingle with the desire to run until I am chest-deep and the water wraps around my skin like a satin ribbon, making the worries, the aches, the stress unwind. Sometimes, I wonder if this is how a recovering alcoholic would feel if someone put a beer in her hand. If her body would wage war against her mind as mine does.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“Shouldn't you have today off? Isn't it Sunday?"
"I've a half day off ever' three days. I'll be out temorra afte'noon."
I snort. "A half day?"
God, that's ridiculous. She doesn't even get a single full day off? What is Alex, some kind of slave driver? Jeez.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“And as I watch him disappear around the corner, i can't help but wonder if this is the exact moment where i officially lost everything.”
― Mandy Hubbard, You Wish

“What do you mean, ruined?"
From the way Emily swallows slowly, you'd think we were talking about smoking crack. "Compromised. By...by another man."
"Oh!" I say, too loudly. "You mean, if the girl's not a virgin, the guy won't marry her?"
She nods, her eyes wide, as if being a non-virgin is akin to being an ax-murder.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“What are you doing? Taking a nap?"

-Ben Mackenzie”
― Mandy Hubbard, You Wish

“Sometimes, people simply want to believe things because it's easier that way. But it doesn't make it the truth" -Cole”
― Mandy Hubbard, Ripple

“Somehow I lost the power to be happy, but I’m taking it back.”
― mandy hubbard, You Wish

“And maybe it works the other way, too. Maybe being friends with someone can make you shut yourself off to stuff that you want to be a part of.”
She doesn’t speak, just shifts her weight back and forth a few times.
I look up at Nicole and give her what I hope is my most sincere look, because she has to know that I’m speaking the truth. “I never meant to turn you into someone you didn’t want to be. I don’t care what you do. If you want to be a cheerleader, then awesome. You can be a nun or a backup dancer for the Jonas Brothers. I don’t care. I just don’t want you to think you can’t be my friend and the things you want to be.”
― Mandy Hubbard, You Wish

“The books are all leather, and the titles are old. I pause at a collection of Shakespeare. Othello. Romeo and Juliet. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I pull Hamlet out and look at it, but then set it back down on the shelf.
I pass a row of books on philosophy, and another on astrology. Up and down I go, pausing now and then, but not pulling any books out. I’m not sure what I expected to find. The Idiot’s Guide to Time Travel?”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“One, two, I’m coming for you, three, four, you better lock your door.’”
-Nightmare on Elm Street -Fool me twice by Mandy Hubbard”
― Mandy Hubbard, Fool Me Twice

“If I ever get the chance to travel back in time again, I’m finding the guy who invented corsets and we’re going to have a serious talk.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“My happiness doesn’t rely on other people. It doesn’t depend on them needing me, wanting me, approving of me. It’s inside me, just where it was when I was little and My Little Pony reigned supreme, before life got twisted and turned upside down, before
everyone else moved on and left me behind. Somehow I lost the power to be happy, but I’m taking it back. Starting today. Today, I choose me.”
― Mandy Hubbard

“This feels decidedly uncool, to be traipsing through mud puddles and squeezing past overflowing dumpsters, but whatev. It’ll keep my mind off Alex.
Alex. God, I wish I could have brought him with me. Put him in a pair of jeans.
I need to stop thinking of him. Stat. It makes my chest ache.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“At some point I realize I’ve made it to the opposite wing. I spot the courtyard through a set of leaded glass windows and the view is the opposite of the one I’ve seen from my wing. Thank God. It would have been terrible to wander much longer, looking like I do. I could have run into--
Alex.
Alex!
Just seeing him makes my anger boil.
He’s staring at me, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide. Is it me, or is he blushing? Hasn’t he ever seen a burrito-girl before? Or is it these dead-sexy rag-curlers in my hair that only an old lady would wear? Not only am I a burrito, I’m a geriatric one. Fabulous.
“Uh, I’m looking for Emily’s room,” I say. I tighten my grip on the blanket, hoping none of me is hanging out anywhere it shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t speak, just motions me to follow him. I walk beside him, the blanket dragging behind me. There are about a thousand things I’d like to say to him right now--Eliza’s pitiful schedule, that poor lady’s letters--but I can’t possibly have a serious conversation looking like this, so I don’t say any of them.
When we get to the door, it’s open, and he steps aside so I can enter. He’s so close to the door that I end up brushing past him when I go by.
“Thanks,” I mutter. As an afterthought I curtsy, but I’m not sure he can even tell because the blanket just sort of mushrooms out. I scurry through the door and slam it behind me, and then fall against it. Alex is probably staring right at the door in his face. Bet he doesn’t get that every day. It almost makes me feel better.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Oh God, this was so stupid; he’s going to kill me.
Or throw me in that dungeon I’m still convinced he has…”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Miss Rebecca Vaughn,” Eliza says, as if to formally present me to Alex. I walk into some kind of parlor, trying to hold my head up high and act as if I’m not at all nervous. I half-heartedly hope Eliza will stay inside the room but she doesn’t; she steps aside and lets me enter.
I walk to a high-backed brocade chair with gilded arms and legs across from the big sofa Alex is occupying and sit down. I cross my ankles and carefully spread out my skirts as if it’s the most important thing in the world and requires every ounce of concentration. Victoria would be proud.
“Where is she?” His voice comes out firm, demanding.
Wow. So much for stalling. I bite my lip. “Who?”
“Do not play games,” he says.
I study my hands as they wring in my lap. I can play dumb, I can postpone this, or I can just tell him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“With Trent Rallsmouth,” I say, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.
His eyes fly open and he sits up straighter.
“The boy from the dance? Where?”
Oh God. He does not look happy. “The gardener’s cottage on the eastern edge of Harksbury.”
Alex stands like he’s the incredible hulk--so quickly I’m surprised the whole sofa doesn’t fly back and crash into the wall.
Oh God, this was so stupid; he’s going to kill me.
Or throw me in that dungeon I’m still convinced he has…
“Please tell me they have a proper chaperone,” he says.
I purse my lips and shake my head.
He sighs, a great drag of irritation, and crosses his arms at his chest. It makes his chest bulge with muscle, and I try to focus on the fact that he seems like he could wring my neck and not on the way he looks today.
Which, seriously, is pretty hot. His face is flushed in anger, which brings out his dark eyes…
Focus.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Look, Victoria wants us,” she says. I cringe when I realize Victoria is the grouchy old lady. Oh, joy.
I follow Emily over to where Victoria is standing. Emily bobs into a curtsy and I awkwardly follow, and then trip on the skirt and have to grab the elbow of a random guy to stop myself from falling.
Victoria stifles a laugh and I want to punch her for it, but the guy distracts me. “You must be Rebecca,” he says, in a voice that sounds sweet and intelligent, if a voice can be intelligent.
“Yes, please, uh, excuse me for my clumsiness.”
Poor Rebecca. I’m going to single-handedly ruin her reputation before she even gets to England.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Once Alex enters the room, I forget I’m even hungry and nearly drop my plate. A helpful servant scoops it up from my hands.
I see him in profile, his long lean body in stark shades of black and white: knee-high socks, dark, well-fitted pants, a jacket the color of midnight, and a snowy-white cravat as pressed and starched as ever. I’d think he looked entirely too formal, except my own dress is at least as fancy. Today, it’s appropriate.
As much as it would be great to see him in a T-shirt, jeans, and ball cap, the formal attire simply suits him.
He surveys the room as the others take notice of his presence, but before they can bombard him, his eyes sweep across to me and then stop. His lips give way to the slightest of smiles, and then he’s heading straight toward me, leaving a gaggle of disappointed faces in his wake.
“Do I look okay?” I whisper to Emily, unable to take my eyes off of him long enough to check.
She squeezes my hand. “You look…”
“Stunning,” Alex finishes as he arrives in front of me.
“Your Grace,” I say, for the first time, and curtsy.
He looks amused that I’ve addressed him so formally. “My lady.” He bows, a deeper bow than I’ve ever seen him do.
I rise and look him in the eye again. “I thought you said I wasn’t a lady.”
He smirks. “I thought you said you were.”
We smile at one another, and the room fades around me.
“Save the next dance?”
I nod.
“Wonderful. I shall find you then.”
And then he leaves me with Emily, and I finally know what a swoon is as I grab her elbow.
“I thought he might ravish you right here on the floor,” she says with a giggle.
“Emily!”
“What?”
And then I can’t help it; I burst into a fit of giggles with her, until my sides ache and I can hardly breathe. A few guests stare as they pass us--I’m betting such behavior is frowned upon--but I find that I don’t even care. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend who made me feel like I could be myself. Ironic, since I’m Rebecca here, but it’s still invigorating and exhilarating, and all we’re doing is standing here laughing like total lunatics. It’s definitely against Victoria’s Rules for Proper Young Ladies.
But I don’t care. I am me. Whether that is someone they like or someone they despise, I am who I am, and that’s the truth.
When have I ever been this sure of myself?
“Is everything all right?” Emily stops giggling.
“Yes. I--” I pause, taking a breath. “I’m…better than all right.” I glance around at the beautiful, sparkling ballroom and then back at Emily’s smiling face. “I’m perfect.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Below stairs,” as it really is called, is a rumor mill. Worse than high school. Not that I blame them. It’s sort of like the way the majority of the high school talks about the A-list.
Of course, when it’s time, the servants will become part of our plan.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Perhaps you could play a song on the pianoforte? I’m sure our guests would enjoy it,” Victoria says.
Great. If the pianoforte is the same thing as the piano, I’m screwed.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“You are American,” he says, as if I’m a mythical creature.
I nod. “Yes. And, uh, we have different dances where I come from.”
“Can you show us one?” The second boy, a dark-haired kid, steps forward, looking intrigued.
I stifle a laugh. “Oh, uh, no. I’m a horrible dancer.”
“Please?” the redheaded boy asks. “I have never seen an American dance.”
I just laughed at them thirty seconds ago. Wouldn’t that make me mean if I just blow them off now?
“I doubt you’d want to see these dances,” I say, stalling. I feel kind of bad. But I really can’t dance. I’ll make a fool of myself.
“Oh, but I do. Most certainly.”
“Oh.” Well, then.
I could try, right? Just some tiny little thing?
But what do I share? MC Hammer? The Running Man? The Electric Slide? A little Macarena?
“Uh,” I say, stepping forward. “How about, um, the Robot?”
“The Robot?” the two boys ask in unison.
Did the word robot even exist in 1815?
“Yeah. You, uh, hold your arms out like this,” I say, demonstrating the proper way to stand like a scarecrow. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “And then relax your elbows and let your hands swing. Like this.”
I’m really not doing it well, but by the way their eyes widen, you’d think I just did a full-on pop-and-lock routine with Justin Timberlake. They mimic my maneuver, making it look effortless.
The drummer guy stands up and gets in on the action, swinging his arms freely. The guy’s better than me after a two-second demo. Figures.
“Okay, then, uh, you sort of walk and you try to make everything look stiff and, uh, unnatural. Like this.” I show him my best robotic walk, my arms mechanical in their movements.
The two boys and the drummer immediately copy me, and by the time they’ve taken four or five steps, they seriously look like robots.
In no time they’re improvising, and their laughter trickles up toward the rafters of the barn.
Yeah. That’s my cue to leave before inspiration strikes and I try to show them how to break-dance but only succeed in breaking my neck.
I slip out of the barn unnoticed, grinning to myself as I walk the gravel path back toward the house, my skirts brushing the dirt.
At least somewhere, I’m not Callie the Klutz. Even if it’s just some smelly old barn.
There’s hope for me after all.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“Why do you suppose the sky is blue? Why not green or red?”
I shrug and follow her gaze. The sun has almost set, the pale blue of day transforming into dark velvet. “It has to do with the light waves. Blue scatters differently than red does.”
Emily looks at me quizzically. “You say such odd things at times, Rebecca.”
I smile, a little embarrassed. I probably shouldn’t show my nerdy side unless under duress. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about that in the Social Climber’s Guide to Regency England.
“What is this you speak of?” Alex’s voice is so deep and unexpected I jerk my eyes from the stars and look at him.
“I’m sorry?”
“The light waves. What do you mean by them?”
Oh. Right. “Um, well, light comes from the sun in waves. Of color. And then they reflect on different things in the atmosphere and…Oh never mind.”
It’s sort of stupid to explain the whole thing, given how complicated it is.
Alex looks straight at me for a long moment, and then turns back to stare at the sky. “And who told you such a thing?”
I snort. “People much smarter than you.”
“I’m smarter than you think,” he says, avoiding my eyes. It’s almost dark out. What is he even looking at?
“And I’m not as ignorant as you think,” I say.
He turns so abruptly I’m surprised he doesn’t strain his neck. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.
I dare him to disagree. I wait for it. But then he just turns away.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice

“The duke raises his arm and sort of flicks his wrist, and they swoop into action, coming at me with a platter full of food. The first guy is holding a tower of eggs.
Ew. I don’t do eggs. “Oh, um, no thank you, I’m not an egg person.”
All noise stops. Everyone stares at me.
Am I not supposed to talk to the servants?
I smile weakly at the duke and his mother as the servant walks away, and another approaches with ham.
I clamp my mouth shut as he plops a hearty portion down on my plate.
My mouth is suddenly very dry. I turn to the servant standing motionless behind me. “Can I get some water?”
Yeah. Definitely not supposed to talk to them. The guy’s eyes flicker over to the old lady, as if he needs permission to get me some water.
“There is lemonade in front of you,” the old lady says.
“Oh.” Is that what that is?
I take a quick swallow and try not to choke. This obviously is not Country Time, if you know what I mean.
I was starving ten minutes ago, but now that I’m sitting in the same room as these weird people, my appetite is gone. This breakfast needs to be over, stat. I can barely keep up with the glove and servant etiquette; I’m bound to screw something up. I need to maintain my fake identity, wrangle a ride to town, and say sayonara.”
― Mandy Hubbard, Prada & Prejudice