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393 pages, Hardcover
First published December 26, 2013
“You’re so much more extraordinary than you give yourself credit for. And I’m not just talking about your mind. Your body too.”There is thinly veiled slut-shaming, even to one's supposedly beloved little sister.
Micah gives her a smile and Dyl returns the favor. Like a prize racehorse, she’s even showing teeth in perfect, pearly order. She’s passing with flying colors.Beauty is not a fucking sin. It is not evil to be lovely.
Beauty. Dyl’s worth is no longer in her looks, it’s in this strand of hair. And I’ll use my own, plain, unspectacular self to help her.It is not immoral to attract attention. Beauty should not be looked upon as a curse, a scarlet letter, a girl is not shameful because of her looks. A girl should not be ashamed for the fact that she attracts the attention of others. What I hate about this book is that the fact that beauty is looked down as almost impure. Ugliness, plainness is seen as a virtue within its book, at the price of demeaning the other female characters who happen to be beautiful. The main character, Zelia, constantly highlights her own ordinariness, her own plainness, her own diminutive stature, which is more boyish than Venus de Milo, as the virtuous Puritan ideal---with the underlying, unsaid message that it is better to be righteous and homely than beautiful and innately slutty.
I’m a total embarrassment. My refusal to wear makeup, nice shoes, or tight clothes. My penchant for getting excited over CellTech News, my favorite holo channel. My endless nagging about her flashy dresses and too-shiny lipstick.Sluttiness is, of course, defined by the way you dress. A girl and another girl cannot exist in the same space without cat fighting. Fuck that shit. Seriously, fuck that shit.
I point to myself and silently mouth the words What did I do? to Wilbert.A beautiful girl cannot open her mouth without uttering something completely and unnecessarily sexual and provocative.Fuck slut shaming. I mean, really. You cannot judge a person by the way they look. You cannot judge a girl by the way she dresses.
“My guess is, you’re female and you exist. Probably an alpha female thing, like wolves or rats—”
I’m not shocked by the fact she’s wearing the latest fashion from Hookers-R-Us. It’s her face.Screw anyone who thinks a girl is a bitch, is a slut, is a fucking whore because she dresses provocatively. I live in Southern California. I wear short shorts like they are going out of fashion. I wear the tiniest of miniskirts. I wear crop tops. I'm also college-educated. I'm also fucking smart. I'm also fucking well-read and you better believe that it pisses the bloody hell out of me to read snide comments coming from a book's female narrator on the appearance of a possible female friend, making everything she does sexual.
Vera is on my floor, staring at her crotch.Making everything she wears sexual. And making judgments on---my fucking god---her own BABY SISTER.
Well, she’s doing yoga, but in essence, that’s what’s going on.
The tattoos. No wonder they keep changing. His body must metabolize the ink so fast that he gets a clean slate every day.Now I ain't saying he's an asshat, but...
Cy’s not done. He spits on the floor again. “She’s damaged goods.”Weeeeeeell. Maybe he's got different sides to his personality. Maybe he has a heightened appreciation for art.
It’s a painting of a dismembered hand, fingers stretching to extremes, but cut off at the wrist, leaning against the wall. The one next to it shows a long bone, still smeared with blood, floating in the same pale blue void the hand is in.Oh, no, that's not creepy at all. I would never dream of imagining that someone with an obsession for excessive piercings, a love of bloody art, and an appreciation for self-mutilation might hurt me in the least. Totally innocent. The fact that Cy has paintings of gore and blood and dismemberment doesn't mean that he's not a secretly sensitive soul at heart. He's sooooooooo not a psychopath or anything.
It warms his slate eyes just a touch, like cold butter that softens after landing on warm toast.One glance into those deadly attractive eyes and Zelia is toast. ^_^
“Oh, you know. After you passed out, Cy knocked us out of the way to give you mouth-to-mouth. He freaking French-kissed you all the way home, in the name of saving your life. What a goddamned romantic. I had no idea he had it in him.”Out of fucking nowhere, they fall in love.
Boyfriend is too limited a term for what Cy has become to me. Water? Oxygen? That might do.WHAT? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?! And that fucking love triangle. So weak it's not even funny. It shouldn't have existed. Like this book.
I rev the engine afresh, and the char thrusts ahead with a roar. The speed is therapeutic, but does nothing to erase the memory of two very different kisses.
“You look nice without makeup,” I say between the regimented breaths of my necklace.
“Please, Zel. No lectures,” she says, combing her damp hair with her fingertips.
“I’m not lecturing you.”
“It’s a sneaky lecture. You’re an expert in those.”
"I’m a total embarrassment. My refusal to wear makeup, nice shoes, or tight clothes. My penchant for getting excited over CellTech News, my favorite holo channel. My endless nagging about her flashy dresses and too-shiny lipstick."
"He spits on the floor again. “She’s damaged goods.”
"I didn’t come here to discuss societal rejects."
“If I hear another but or can’t or don’t today, I will unleash the hellfire of all things female and bitchy and you won’t recover for a millennium. Okay?”
"I’m not shocked by the fact she’s wearing the latest fashion from Hookers-R-Us."
"He sits in the center of a round desk and computer screen that almost completely encircle him. On a happier day, I’d joke that he’s got a bad Saturn complex.
"I hate it when people call me a lady. I’m anything but, so it feels like an insult."
"That’s by legal fusion.” Hardly anyone calls it marriage anymore."
"I’ve just lost everything I’ve ever known and she’s getting all hydrochloric acid on me."
"The tiniest hint of a smile. It warms his slate eyes just a touch, like cold butter that softens after landing on warm toast."
"I can feel it in my neurons."
"My heart. It hurts."
I’m not shocked by the fact that she’s wearing the latest fashion from Hookers-R-Us.Lovely.
"I think you have a trait too. You're a hermaphrodite. Because girl, you've got balls."