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We teleported,” Issie finishes. “Like in Star Trek or Harry Potter, sort of. No! Like in Dr. Who in that episode with the Sontarans and the brilliant human boy, or really any Dr. Who ever if you think of the Tardis! Holy canola! That is just the coolest thing ever! Wowie, wow, wow!

Carrie Jones
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I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it’s Nick.I cruise next to him. He’s some sort of running god, because he isn’t close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick.“Hi.”Why I said this, I do not know. He’s cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn’t as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff.“You’re fast,” he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down.“So are you.”We run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it’s nothing.Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I’m running full tilt it’s hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug.“You can go faster, can’t you?” I huff out.He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them.“Zara,” he whisper-says.I lean in closer to hear him. “What?”My voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers.“Awesome job, new girl!” Devyn yells, clapping.
Carrie Jones
... no one can ever save someone else, you know? We can only save ourselves. You know that, don't you?
Carrie Jones
It's hard to save the world when you can't save yourself
Carrie Jones
I used to be embarrassed by my mom, but now I know what she is—she’s a hero.
Carrie Jones
Nick stands behind me. He puts a hand on my waist.I yank in a breath. The world seems to swirl around me.“Are you going to faint?” he asks.I back into him and blurt, “But you’re so cute. Werewolves aren’t supposed to be cute. Vampires are, I think. They are in the movies. But the werewolves are pretty much ugly and they wear leather jackets and are all dirty with these monster sideburns.”“That’s all you have to say? That I’m cute?” He takes a stray piece of my hair and curls it around his fingers. “Most people faint or shriek or never talk to me again.
Carrie Jones
Nick bumps my shoulder with his, playfully. He kicks up some extra snow on purpose, whishing it onto my knees.“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I tell him.“Really?”“Especially with that doggy breath.”He scoops up some snow, makes it into a ball, bounces his hand up and down. “Take that back.”I giggle. “Nope.”I bend down to grab some snow and topple headfirst. The cold of it bites into my cheeks. I try to push myself up, but I can’t. I’m all awkward and clumsy with the snowshoes on.Nick laughs.I struggle some more.He grabs me under my arms and hauls me up. Smiling, he sticks out his tongue, and with tiny little movements starts licking the snow off my cheeks. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s all warm, and good feeling, and amazing. I close my eyes and let him.“You smell good,” he whispers.“I haven’t showered.”“Doesn’t matter, you smell good.”His voice, sensual and warm, mellows me.Our lips touch and part, touch again. I breathe him in. He moves his face away a little and studies me. I smile. I can’t help it.“I like you,” I say. “A lot. Even with the whole werewolf thing.”He smiles back. “I like you too.”“A lot?”“Mm-hmm,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “A wicked lot.
Carrie Jones
Dimples crinkle up the skin near his lips. I will not look at his lips. How can he never have used those? That’s a crime against humanity right there.
Carrie Jones
I push my thigh against his. “Well, thank God.”“Thank God what?” he asks. His hand slowly rubs up and down the place where my shoulder meets my arm. It makes me good shiver.“That I don’t have a neck brace. It’s hard to rock a neck brace, especially if we’re still going to that dance.”He leans in and kisses my nose. “If anyone could do it, you could.”I tilt my head so our lips meet.“Hormonal ones, I am right here. Me. The old lady otherwise known as your grandmother,” Betty says.“Sorry. He’s just irresistible,” I say, settling back against him.“Well, try to resist the irresistible,” Betty says knowingly as the truck bumps over a pothole.
Carrie Jones
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