Renae McKenzie

“Are you sad?”

“Not yet.” He closes his eyes.

“I’ll drive for a bit.” I hold out my hand.

He shakes his head. “You’re my guest. I’ll drive. You’re tired.”

“Oh, I’m your guest now?” I put as much menace as I can into my walk and he puts both hands behind his back. I smile at him and he smiles back. I’m surprised the pinprick stars above us don’t explode into silver powder. The sadness I caught in his eyes is burned away by a spark of amusement.

“My hostage. My blackmailed, unwilling captive. Stockholm Shortcake.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“We are adults undertaking a team-building activity in a professional capacity, so naturally we spend several minutes horsing around, striking poses with our paintball guns and making sound effects. Joshua and Sergeant Paintball watch us like orderlies at a mental facility.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“I hope it's not too forward of me to say, but your eyes are incredible, Lucy. I die when you blink.”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game

“How long have you done it?”

“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”

“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”

“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”

“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”

“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”

“I’ve always noticed.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. ”
― Sally Thorne, The Hating Game