Grace

“Break a leg . . . please,” Cole says with a grin. “Lose a testicle . . . please,” I say as I reach up and drag my finger over his cheek, wiping a large smear of green off his face. Atlas gasps next to us. “Ah, she ruined your makeup. It took me ten minutes to get that right.”
― Meghan Quinn, How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

“This is what a high feels like. This effervescent, light, practically airless feeling pulsing through my veins as I levitate out of bed, toe on my slippers, curtsy to that bitch Samantha, and then head down the creaky stairs, the smell of coffee leading the way. Wow.”
― Meghan Quinn, How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

“And when he was being made, whoever was in charge decided to grace him with height, and thick dark hair, and . . . glutes. High, tight glutes. Frankly, it’s kind of rude and offensive if you ask me.”
― Meghan Quinn, How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

“They say time heals all wounds, but how can it when everything around me keeps ripping it wide open?”
― Elle Kish, Traveler of Heart