Best 15 quotes of Rachel Vail on MyQuotes

Great point made in son's college orientation re sex/safety/respect/etc: 'Consent is really too low a bar. Hold out for enthusiasm.'

I keep looking for ultimate answers, but maybe there aren't any or maybe I'm not looking in the right places, because in the section marked ANSWERS in the back of my geometry book, there's only a bunch of numbers, and all I can find to stare at in the refrigerator is five carrots and a jar of no-fat mayonnaise.

I shoved him off the snowmobile. He landed on his back in the snow. "Love is a brat, you think? No, love id fine. You are the brat, you spoiled, rotten brat!

I smashed his hand as hard as I could with the Wiffle bat. "Ow!" he screamed. Carson was rubbing his red palm, inspecting it for damage. "That hurt," he shrieked. "You really hurt me." "Right back at you," I said. "Good-bye Carson." He frowned, massaging his hand, the big baby. "I just wanted to end this nicely." "Yeah?" I cocked the bat up to hit him again. "Well, this time you don't get what you want.

Kids are constantly evolving, learning, and growing. They aren’t who they were yesterday.

Young people are growing in plain sight, there is no place for them to hide, no cocoon. It’s hard

You planning top kill me with a Wiffle bat?" [Carson asked] "Yeah." "Why?" he asked. The bat was shaking in my tight grip. "Because I don't have my Minnie Mouse pillow.

Come on Josie." He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "I really want you there." "Yeah?" I asked, slamming my locker shut. "And do you always get what you want?" "Yes," he said.

Do you think we're being robbed?" I whispered. He nodded gravely, then crawled over to my closet and opened it. "Did you want to borrow something more formal to wear for the robbery? I'm not sure I have anything in your size." "Shh," he whispered. "Don't you at least have a tennis racket or anything?" "You think they came here looking for a doubles partner?" He turned quickly and gave me a look, then whipped a Wiffle bat out of the mess. "Wow," I said. "You jock-type people really are single-minded, aren't you? Uh-oh, we're being robbed. Let's play ball!" "It's for a weapon," Carson whispered. "You're gonna hit them with a Wiffle bat?" "What else you got?" "Um...A pillow" "Exactly" ... "Stay behind me," he whispered. "Can I just say that I never knew this about me before, but weirdly enough this whole protective he-man thing actually turns me on." "Josie." "What," I asked. "Shut Up." I grabbed my pillow, just in case, so to speak, and tiptoed behind him around the mussed-up bed. "Maybe we should just hide in the closet." He turned around, rolled his eyes and kissed me. "Shh," he repeated.

I didn't care who kissed you first as long as I kissed you last.

I don't care who kissed you first, as long as I kissed you last - George (If we kiss)

It's just one of those things, like some people don't sink when they go in the pool, some know how to throw a ball so it goes toward the person holding the mitt. I have no idea how people do those things; I'm good at schoolwork. That works out well because it frees up my time for my hobbies, like lying on the couch eating M&M's.

Pushing Carson back out of the door, I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shoved my feet into the great old clogs that my poor podiatrist father wants outlawed. "Don't you want to change or something?" Mom called after me. "She'll never change," Carson answered, and followed me down the steps. I settled myself into the passenger seat and buckled up as he back out of the driveway. "Your arches are falling?" "Turns out I am deeply flawed," I admitted.

Some of the choices teenagers make are morally and practically wrong. Some of my characters do things I hope my child won't. There are occasionally words my characters choose that I wouldn't utter in my mother's presence. But when I was sixteen, or twelve, hanging out with my friends? That was different. For a story to feel real, I have to respect what a character would really do or say.

Sorry," I said... "Sorry for what?" He glanced over at me. "For whatever I did wrong," I said. "Did you do something?" I shrugged, "Why are you not talking to me?" "I'm just driving." He moved his hand from the gearshift onto my leg. "Do you like snowmobiling?" "I love it," I said. He shot me a look. "Have you ever gone snowmobiling before?" "No," I said. He smiled. God, I hate his smile, I love it so much.