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For someone who loves words, I’m occasionally not great at speaking them
Afficher en entierThat is when my heart plummets to my toes. At Westview, I’ve always been packaged with McNair. We are never not mentioned in the same breath, Rowan versus Neil and Neil versus Rowan, year after year after year. I’ve observed everything from terror to sheer joy pass over a teacher’s face at the beginning of the year upon realizing they have both of us in their class. Most find our rivalry entertaining, pitting us against each other in debates and partnering us on projects. Part of the reason I want valedictorian so badly is that I want to end high school as myself, not half of a warring pair.
Afficher en entier« You’re going to Emerson, right?” she asks, and I nod. “Your essays were always so insightful. Planning to follow in your parents’ footsteps?”
How difficult would it be to say yes?
While of course I’m worried about how people respond to romance novels, there’s another fear that pulls my shoulders into a shrug when people ask what I want to be when I grow up. As long as being a writer is a dream that stays in my head, I don’t have to face the reality of potentially not being good enough. In my head, I’m my only critic. Out there, everyone is.
As soon as I declare myself a writer, there will be expectations that come with being Ilana and Jared’s daughter. And if I somehow fail to meet them, if I’m messy and imperfect and still learning, the judgment would be harsher than if my parents were podiatrists or chefs or statisticians. Telling people means I think I might be okay at this—be good at this—and while I desperately want that to be true, I’m terrified of the possibility that I’m not. »
Afficher en entierMaybe that’s the definition of nostalgia: getting sappy about things that are supposed to be insignificant.
Afficher en entier“There’s this word in Japanese: tsundoku,” Neil says suddenly.
“It’s my favorite word in any language.”
“What does it mean?”
He grins. “It means acquiring more books than you could ever realistically read.”
Afficher en entier“Maybe it's the whole concept of a guilty pleasure," Neil says gently. "Why should we feel guilty about something that brings us - pleasure?”
Afficher en entier“Crush’ is too weak a word to describe how I feel. It doesn’t do you justice, but maybe it works for me. I am the one who is crushed. I’m crushed that we have only ever regarded each other as enemies. I’m crushed when the day ends and I haven’t said anything to you that isn’t cloaked in five layers of sarcasm.”
Afficher en entier“Maybe that’s the definition of nostalgia: getting sappy about things that are supposed to be insignificant.”
Afficher en entier“While I love romance, I’ve never believed in the concept of soul mates, which has always seemed a little like men’s rights activism: not a real thing. Love isn’t immediate or automatic; it takes effort and time and patience.
The truth of it was that I’d probably never have the kind of luck with love the women who live in fictional seaside towns do. But sometimes I get this strange feeling, an ache not for something I miss, but for something I’ve never known.”
Afficher en entier“The love that I wanted so desperately: this isn’t what I thought it would feel like. It’s made me dizzy and it’s grounded me. It’s made me laugh when nothing is funny. It shimmers and it sparks, but it can be comfortable, too, a sleepy smile and a soft touch and a quiet, steady breath. Of course this boy—my rival, my alarm clock, my unexpected ally—is at the center of it.
And somehow, it’s even better than I imagined.”
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