Karla

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Richelle Mead
“Lissa and I had been friends ever since kindergarten, when our teacher had paired us up together for writing lessons. Forcing five-year-olds to spell Vasilisa Dragomir and Rosemarie Hathaway was beyond cruel, and we’d—or rather, I’d—responded appropriately. I’d chucked my book at out teacher and called her a fascist bastard. I hadn’t known what those words meant, but I’d known how to hit a moving target.
Lissa and I had been inseparable ever since.”
Richelle Mead, Vampire Academy

Richelle Mead
“Hey Mason, wipe the drool off your face. If you're going to think about me naked, do it on your own time." [...]
"This is my time, Hathaway. I'm leading today's session."
"Oh yeah?" I retorted. "Huh. Well, I guess this is a good time to think about me naked, then."
"It's always a good a time to think about you naked," added someone nearby, breaking the tension further.”
Richelle Mead, Vampire Academy

Richelle Mead
“Wow." I hadn't thought Dimitri could be any cooler, but I was wrong. "You beat up your dad. I mean, that's really horrible...what happened. But, wow. You really are a god."
He blinked. "What?"
"Uh, nothing.”
Richelle Mead, Vampire Academy

Richelle Mead
“Roza." His voice had that same wonderful lowness, the same accent . . . it
was all just colder. "You forgot my first lesson: Don’t hesitate.”
Richelle Mead, Blood Promise

Richelle Mead
“You know what would help?" I asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"If you turned off this crap music and put on something that came out after the Berlin Wall went down."

Dimitri laughted. "Your worst class is history, yet somehow, you know everything about Eastern Europe."

"Hey, gotta have material for my jokes, Comrade." Still smiling, he turned the radio dail. To a country station.

"Hey! This isn't what I had in mind," I exclaimed. I could tell he was on the verge of laughing again.

"Pick. It's one or the other."

I sighed. "Go back to the 1980s stuff."

He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.”
Richelle Mead, Frostbite

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