Carry On (Simon Snow, #1)

by Rainbow Rowell

Snow’s table manners are atrocious—it’s like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you’d like to slip the tongue.

“Why do the gingerbread girls have to wear pink?” Penny asks. “Why should the gingerbread girls feel like they shouldn’t wear pink?” I say. “I like pink.” “Only because you’ve been conditioned to like it by Barbies and gendered Lego.”

Because I’ve never kissed anyone before. (I was afraid I might bite.) And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but him. (I won’t bite. I won’t hurt him.) I just want to kiss him, then go. “Simon …” I say. And then he kisses me.

When have we ever been any help, Penelope? Like, real help. We’re just … witnesses. And hostages. And, like, future collateral damage. If we were in a movie, one of us would have to die while Simon watched. That’s all we’re good for.”

He leans in like he’s going to bite me, then kisses me instead. It’s so good. It’s been so good every time.

“What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.” He tries to kiss me, but I hold back—“And you like that?” “I love it,” he says. “Why?” “Because we match.”