Traci

“She turns her head so slowly to look at me that for a moment I am stricken with the weird unfamiliarity of being seen—no, not seen. Recognized. It’s rare enough someone knows I’m me and not Ethan without getting a good look at me. It’s straight up weird when someone can tell without fully turning around. The only person I know who can do that is Grandma Belly—my parents still mix us up so frequently that there’s about a 50 percent chance I am Ethan, and someone switched us along the way.”
― Emma Lord, Tweet Cute

“Dad sat down and examined a fried gyoza on the tip of his chopsticks. These deep-fried delights had endured a twenty-minute car ride, so some sogginess was expected. But when he bit into one of the ends, the initial resounding crunch and the subsequent smaller ones made me want to add all the remaining crispy dumplings to my plate, but they were for Mom and Dad, not me. After he finished chewing and swallowing, he said, “Woweee, this is the best gyoza in town. I could eat these all day! Should we sit down? You”
― Suzanne Park, The Christmas Clash

“I’m not. It’s hard as hell. Even for me.” “Did you know that it’s not ‘hard as hell’?” she said. “It’s hard as hail.” I tilted my head. “Is it?” “Yeah. You know who told me that? This homeless guy at the farmers market.” “No. I’m googling this.” I picked up my phone and typed. “Oh my God. You’re right. I mean, the internet is a little divided on it, but there’s definitely a ‘hard as hail’ camp.” “It makes sense. Hail is hard.” “Hell is also hard, though,” I said. “Well, we’ll never know. Neither of us are going.”
― Abby Jimenez, Worst Wingman Ever

“She then sat down opposite the steward’s desk and answered a number of job-related questions, such as how quickly she could run, and whether she strongly valued keeping all ten of her fingers. The steward seemed impressed that she found all of his questions perfectly reasonable. Most people, he explained, walked straight out the door. “But this is a library,” she replied in surprise. “What do they expect—that the books won’t try to bite off their fingers?”
― Margaret Rogerson, Sorcery of Thorns