When You Are A High School Girl,

If You Knew Where Your Happiness Came From, It Gave You Patience. You Realized That A Lot Of The Time, You Were Just Waiting Out A Situation, And That Took The Pressure Off; You No Longer Looked To Every Interaction To Actually Do Something For You.

I Thought, If I Write A Book That Is Not A Retelling Of Pride And Prejudice, It's Not Going To Mean That I Will Not Get Any Criticism. I Might As Well Write The Book That I Want To Write.

I Have Always Found The Times When Another Person Recognizes You To Be Strangely Sad; I Suspect The Pathos Of These Moments Is Their Rareness, The Way They Contrast With Most Daily Encounters. That Reminder That It Can Be Different, That You Need Not Go Through Your Life Unknown But That You Probably Still Will--that Is The Part That's Almost Unbearable.

She Opened Her Mouth But Did Not Immediately Speak, And I Felt, Simultaneously, The Impulse To Coax The Words From Her And The Impulse To Suppress Them. I Always Thought I Wanted To Know A Secret, Or I Wanted An Event To Unfold – I Wanted My Life To Start – But In Those Rare Moments When It Seemed Like Something Might Actually Change, Panic Shot Through Me.

Of Course, I Didn't Imagine Then That I Could Have Had A Real Relationship With Any Guy. I Thought That By Virtue Of Being Me I Was Disqualified.