Basically, everyone thinks--knows--how sweet I am.

Emma, you threw my sister through hurricane-proof glass.

I glance at him. He's looking at me, his expression every bit as expectant as I feel. I hate this little game of ours. Maybe because I'm no good at it. He won't tell me more unless I ask. Curiosity is one of my most incurable flaws--and Galen knows it.
Still, I already gave up a perfectly good tantrum for him, so I feel like he owes me. Never mind that he saved my life today. That was so two hours ago.

No offense, but you're not exactly an expert on judging people's emotions."
"I'm not sure what you mean by that."
"Sure you do."
"If you're talking about Rayna, then you're wrong. She loves me. She just won't admit it."
I roll my eyes. "Right. She's playing hard to get, is that it? Bashing your head with a rock, splitting your lip, calling you squid breath all the time."
"What does that mean? Hard to get?"
"It means she's trying to make you think she doesn't like you, so that you end up liking her more. So you work harder to get her attention."
He nods. Exactly. That's exactly what she's doing.

Q: When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
A: I hate this question, because the answer makes me look like a jerk. The answer exposes me as a jerk. But here it is: the first time I read Twilight, I thought to myself, "If this chick can write a book, then you can!"
One day, Stephanie Meyer is going to give me a bloody nose. I accept that like I accept that I will one day get wrinkles.
To Stephanie Meyer: Could you come at me from the right side?
That side of my face could use adjusting...

I wonder how many tears the ocean has swallowed, how much of the ocean is actually made of tears.

I'd be a dumbass if I didn't plan for every contingency.