The Scorpio Races

by Maggie Stiefvater

She is my mare and my best friend, and I keep waiting for something bad to happen to her, because I love her too much.

“You made this?” Finn looks at me. “No, Saint Anthony brought it to me in the night. He was very put out I didn’t give it to you right then.”

Neatness makes me feel like I have to be on my best behavior. Clutter is my natural habitat.

“It’s easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don’t understand. Something that makes them feel strong or clever. It’s why they love the ocean.”

I’d always thought I was above being fascinated by anyone but myself.

“I was born wrapping legs,” I say stiffly, because I’m insulted. “Must’ve been a challenging delivery,” Sean notes,

I’m quite happy for the smile, because Dad told me once you should be grateful for the gifts that are the rarest.

I say, “I will not be your weakness, Sean Kendrick.” Now he looks at me. He says, very softly, “It’s late for that, Puck.”

“You leave nothing to assumption,” Dory Maud says. “You swallow her with your eyes. I’m surprised there’s any of her left for the rest of us to see.”

“What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.” “She bites!” says someone.

My mother always told me that you should wear your best clothing when you are angry, because it would scare people.