En ocasiones, a pesar de tus mayores esfuerzos la vida te dará limones. Cuando eso suceda tienes dos opciones, amigo. Puedes amargarte o hacer limonada.

You know, sometimes I wonder... Well, if I hadn't been Fox Books, and you hadn't been…The Shop Around the Corner, and you and I had just…oh, met… I would have asked for your number. And I…wouldn't have been able to wait 24 hours before calling you up and saying, "Hey, how about…oh, how about some coffee, or, you know, drinks, or dinner, or a movie…for as long as we both shall live?" And you and I would never have been at war. And the only thing we’d fight about would be which video to rent on a Saturday night. (...) Well, let me ask you something. … How can you forgive this guy for standing you up and not forgive me for this tiny little thing…mm, putting you out of business? Oh how I wish you would.

Now, I concede I bring out the worst in you. But let me just help you to not say something you're just gonna torture yourself about for years…to come. … I hope you feel better soon. It would be a shame to miss New York in the spring.

People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they’re really saying is that something you didn’t want to happen at all…has happened. My store is closing this week. I own a store. Did I ever tell you that? It’s a lovely store. And in a week it will be something really depressing. Like a baby gap. Soon it will just be a memory. In fact someone, some foolish person, will probably think it’s a tribute to this city. The way it keeps changing on you, or the way you can never count on it, or…something. I know, because that’s the sort of thing I’m always saying. But the truth is, I’m heartbroken. I feel as if a part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again. And no one…can ever make it right.

I came home tonight and got into the elevator to go to my apartment. An hour later, I got out of the elevator and Brinkley and I moved out. Suddenly everything had become clear. It's a long story. Full of the personal details we avoid so carefully. Let me just say, there was a man sitting in the elevator with me who knew exactly what he wanted. And I found myself wishing…I were as lucky as he.

I’ve been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you and you weren't there. I wish I knew why. I felt so foolish. And as I waited, someone else showed up, a man who has made my professional life a misery, and an amazing thing happened. I, I was able, for the first time in my life, to say the exact thing I wanted to say, at the exact moment I wanted to say it. And of course, afterwards, I felt terrible. Just as you said I would. I was cruel, and I'm never cruel. And even though I can hardly believe what I said mattered to this man – to him, I am just a bug to be crushed – but what if it did? No matter what he's done to me, there is no excuse for my behavior. Anyway, I so wanted to talk to you. I hope you have a good reason for not being there last night. You don’t seem like the kind of person that would do something like that. The odd thing about this form of communication is, that you’re more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say, that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many…somethings. So, thanks.

Well, if he's not here, he has a reason, because there is not a cruel or careless bone in his body. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand anybody like that. You with your theme park, multi-level homogenize-the-world mochaccino land. You’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you’re some sort of benefactor, bringing books to the masses. But no one will ever remember you, Joe Fox. And maybe no one will remember me either. But plenty of people remember my mother. And they think she was fine. And they think her store was something special. You…are nothing but a suit.

¿Alguna vez has sentido que te conviertes en la peor versión de ti misma? ¿Que una caja de Pandora con todas las partes odiosas, (tu arrogancia, tu maldad, tu condescendencia) ha sido abierta? Alguien te provoca y en vez de sonreír y seguir adelante, les dices en un silbido: "Hola, soy el Señor Odioso". Estoy seguro de que no tienes idea de lo que estoy hablando.
No sería maravilloso que yo pudiera pasarte todos mis silbidos y entonces nunca más me comportaria mal y tu si... ¡Todo el tiempo! ¡Y ambos seriamos felices! Pero, pensandolo bien, debo advertirte que cuando obtienes el placer de decir lo que realmente querias decir en el momento en que debias decirlo... el remordimiento es inevitable....


Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora’s box of all the secret, hateful parts, your arrogance, your spite, your condescension, has sprung open? Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, ya zing them. “Hello, it’s Mr. Nasty.” I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pass all my zingers to you, and then I would never behave badly, and you could behave badly…all the time! And we’d both be happy! But then, on the other hand, I must warn you, that when you finally have the pleasure of saying the thing you mean to say at the moment you mean to say it…remorse inevitably follows. …

Es increible cuando dos extraños se convierten en los mejores amigos, pero es realmente triste cuando los mejores amigos se convierten en dos extraños.

It's really amazing when two strangers become the best of friends, but it's really sad when the best of friends become two strangers

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.

Yes, it sucked getting dumped. But wasn't it better to just be brutally honest? To admit that your feeling for someone is never going to be powerful enough to justify taking up any more of their time? I was doing him a favor, really. Freeing him up for a better opportunity. In fact, I was a practically a saint, if you really thought about it.

The Demon Series

Demon Envy by Erin Lyyn


Vanity isn’t even one of the seven deadly sins, but that’s what got me into this mess...

This is my story. The tale of a normal morning in the life of a normal girl—WHO HAS A DEMON POP UP IN HER SHOWER. Yeah, that’s where the vanity comes in. While trying to get rid of a monster zit, I dropped my face lotion in the tub. And while fifty bucks’ worth of it swirled down the drain, it freed a demon from his prison portal. A mysteriously geeky looking demon. (In the movies, they’re always hot, right?)

So here I am, Kenzie Sutcliffe, saddled with a creature who looks and acts like every other guy I know. That is: ANNOYING. At least Levi has a job—if you could call it that. He has to stir up envy and jealousy in humans…or he starves. All he’s tempting me to do is crawl back into my bedroom and hide there until forever. Because believe me, no one is going to be coveting my life after this…

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Speed Demon by Erin Lynn


You think you know annoying boys? Just try the demonic kind…

That’s pretty much how I feel about Levi, who shot out of a demon hole in my shower not too long ago. Let’s just say closing the portal was hard—it involved driving the minivan into the kitchen.

Now I’m grounded, not allowed to drive, and getting chauffeured around by a demon whose driver’s license is dubious at best. Plus, he tells me, when one portal closes— another one opens…

Even though Levi can be a pain, I just can’t let the other demons drag him back to hell. I guess that means it’s up to me, Kenzie Sutcliffe, to save the day…again!

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Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.

I am supposed to pray, I think. I can never tell with moments of silence. They’re so . . . silent. Empty.

I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know how anybody does it, waking up every morning and eating and moving from the bus to the assembly line, where the teacherbots inject us with Subject A and Subject B, and passing every test they give us. Our parents provide the list of ingredients and remind us to make healthy choices: one sport, two clubs, one artistic goal, community service, no grades below a B, because really, nobody’s average, not around here. It’s a dance with complicated footwork and a changing tempo.
I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.

The breakup with my mother was the same old story told a million times. Girl is born, girl learns to talk and walk, girl mispronounces words and falls down. Over and over again. Girl forgets to eat, fails adolescence, mother washes her hands of Girl, scrubbing with surgical soap and a brush for three full minutes, then gloving up before handing her over to specialists and telling them to experiment at will. When they let her out, Girl rebels.

I close my eyes.
As I step on the scale, Jennifer warns Emma about ice cream.
As I step on the scale, Emma fears vanilla.
As I step on the scale, Dad swings his racket and scores.
As I step on the scale, Mom slices open a stranger.
As I step on the scale, shadows edge closer.
As I step on the scale, Cassie dreams.
I open my eyes. 099.00 pounds. I am officially standing on Goal Number One.
...
They are morons. This body has a different metabolism. This body hates dragging around the chains they wrap around it. Proof? At 099.00 I think clearer, look better, feel stronger. When I reach the next goal, it will be all that, and more. Goal Number Two is 095.00, the perfect point of balance. At 095.00, I will be pure. Light enough to walk with my head up, meaty enough to fool everyone. At 095.00, I will have the strength to stay in control. I’ll stand on the blocks hidden in the toes of my satin ballet slippers, pink ribbons sewn into my calves, and rise above up in the air:
magical. At 090.00, I will soar. That’s Goal Number Three.

I pull into the garage, brain dripping with gasoline fumes. I don’t remember driving home. One of these days I’m going to walk into the house and the news guy on TV will be reporting a hit-and-run that just happened downtown. The camera will show blood and broken glass on the sidewalk. A reporter will interview a sobbing woman who saw the accident in front of the department store on Bartlett Street. I’ll have a funny taste in my mouth because I’ll be holding a shopping bag from that store in my hand. I will run back to the garage and find the dead body of a woman stuck in my windshield, blood everywhere.
This kind of thing can happen.

“Dead girl walking,” the boys say in the halls.
“Tell us your secret,” the girls whisper, one toilet to another.
I am that girl.
I am the space between my thighs, daylight shining through.
I am the library aide who hides in Fantasy.
I am the circus freak encased in beeswax.
I am the bones they want, wired on a porcelain frame.
When I get close, they step back. The cameras in their eyeholes record the zit on my chin, the rain in my eyes, the blue water under my skin. They pick up every sound on their collar microphones. They want to pull me inside of them, but they’re afraid.
I am contagious.


{so, tell me your secret ♥}

Cassie thought heaven was a fairy tale for stupid people. How can you find a place you don’t believe in? You can’t. So where does she go now? What if she comes back, eyes on angryfire?