Dr. Strange Beard (Winston Brothers, #5)

by Penny Reid

I have feelings. I just choose not to be preoccupied by, ensnared by, or guided by them. That’s not what feelings are for. If I wanted to be guided, I would open Google Maps or consult a Sherpa.

You can’t help your thing, it just is. Love it. Own it. Thing it.

Root of Roscoe’s rudeness . . . say that three times real fast.

Maybe I could warn Roscoe. Or maybe I could just show up wherever he was, that would certainly drive him out of town.

“Wouldn’t it be great if folks everywhere were used to listening—really listening—to people who didn’t look like them? Instead of discounting a voice because it doesn’t come from a mouth and face that resembles theirs, what if they got used to valuing those voices? The only way people learn and change—I believe—is by practicing. So that means we need to give them more opportunities to practice listening. We need more voices like mine speaking to folks like Officer Strickland.” She

My self-image is based almost entirely on my brain and my brain’s interests, which seems to be a difficult concept for most people to grasp.

I wasn’t much of a fretter. When I fretted, it was usually about TV shows and fictional characters.

To a hammer, everything looks like a nail. To my brain, everything looks like a precursor to murder. Likely, I was a gothic novelist in a past life.

Roscoe turned his head in my direction and he released a quiet, restless sound, as though my words pained him, like he couldn’t abide the thought of me frightened.

My mother used to tell me that (most) people value what they have in abundance and what they lack in abundance. If a person didn’t value the strengths and interests they had in abundance, then they would have no self-worth. My strengths and interests were book and brain related. Conversely, if a person didn’t place value on what they lacked, then they would never strive to be better.

Even so, I found I wasn’t ready to leave, not if she wasn’t coming with me somewhere.

“If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.” Edgar Allan Poe

Not a hunch, not a hypothesis, not a theory. A law. I’d loved him.

the element of surprise was my favorite, even if it wasn’t on the periodic table.

in a battle between two bullshitters, the one who cares about the outcome will always lose to the one who doesn’t care at all.

“Where did you get this dog?” he demanded, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes unreadable chaos. “I borrowed it,” I yelled so I wouldn’t burst into tears. “You borrowed Pavlov?” “Yes?” I answered, unsure why I sounded so unsure.

Elation. Euphoria. Ecstasy. The three Es. Forget Google Maps and Sherpas. Feelings for the win!

I trusted that she’d return, especially since she’d left the Donner Bakery cake behind.

I mean, ladies. Holy cow. Get thee a Winston, stat!

Every black kid I knew received the talk, about how to behave around police and law enforcement (outside of our small town) in particular. Never smile. Always say, Yes sir or No ma’am. Make eye contact, but try not to look threatening or scared. Keep your hands where they can see them at all times. Don’t move unless instructed, and even then, don’t move too fast. Keep your voice calm, respectful, and even. Don’t say anything more than required. My

“It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”

He was gone, but not without a trace. He’d forgotten his jacket and pink tie on the chair.

The time has come to live your life for Billy Winston.”

I'm not crying you are crying

in love—nothing makes sense. I didn’t make sense. I didn’t understand myself. Down is up and up is purple. The sky is drawer. The moon is goat.

I live and I breathe, and I love Simone Payton.”