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“Look at history,” Eva continued, rubbing a temple. “Roxanne Shanté out-rapping grown men at fourteen. Serena winning the US Open at seventeen. Mary Shelley writing Frankenstein at eighteen. Josephine Baker conquering Paris at nineteen. Zelda Fitzgerald’s high school diary was so fire that her future husband stole entire passages to write The Great Gatsby. The eighteenth-century poet Phillis Wheatley published her first piece at fourteen, while enslaved. Joan of Arc. Greta Thunberg. Teen girls rearrange the fucking world.”
Who was the panelist with food poisoning?” Cece paused. “Zadie Smith.”
Doommeddd😭😂😂
“There’s a vampire-witch-mermaid threesome scene in Cursed Fourteen,” noted Cece. “You’ll win for the audacity alone.”
LMAO Cece is rudeee 😭😂
“I like being single,” Eva continued quietly. “I don’t want anyone to have to really see me.”
“And here’s what’s really good,” continued Belinda. “The publishing industry has a hard time processing Black characters unless we’re suffering.” Nods and murmurs from the audience. “We’re expected to write about trauma, oppression, or slavery, because those are easily marketable Black tropes.
Now that I think about it, it's true.
Girls are given the weight of the world, but nowhere to put it down. The power and magic born in that struggle? It’s so terrifying to men that we invented reasons to burn y’all at the stake, just to keep our dicks hard.”
“One thing,” she whispered, her lips by his jaw. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. “Before I forget.” “What’s that?” “Stop writing about me.” Only Eva could’ve noticed the change in his expression. She saw the flinch. The slow, satisfied curl of his lip. His bronzy-amber eyes flashing. It was like he’d been waiting years to hear those words. Like the girl whose pigtails he’d been yanking during recess all year had finally shoved him back. He looked gratified. In a voice both raspy and low, and so, so familiar, Shane said, “You first.”
SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP, THIS IS IT Y'ALL THIS IS IT
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A hot flush radiated across his chest, but he ignored it. “So. You had to make me evil, huh? A vampire?” “If the fangs fit,” she shot back. “Did you have to make me an adorable runaway with a heart of gold?” “I didn’t make you that. You were that.”
SHEEESHHHHh
“So,” began Eva. “You’ve read my whole series.” “Every line.” He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. “You’ve read mine, too.” “With a highlighter.”
“You begged me to stay, promised me you’d never leave. But it was all a lie. You never even tried to contact me. Not even to see if I’d made it out alive! Is it fun for you to ruin lives and escape unscathed? Are you sick, or just a liar? I stayed alive for you. But you killed me, anyway.”
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“I love you,” said Shane. “Dramatically, violently, and forever.”
“It happens. Look at Mariah. She can’t walk across a stage without assistance from sixteen Puerto Rican male dancers. But she’s the voice of a generation.”
BURNNNNNN HAHAHAHHAHA 😭😭😭😂😭😂😭😂 HOLLERING
“Adulthood is a lie, Audre. We’re all just tall toddlers.”
“You won,” he whispered. “You won!” She turned her face up to his. And because he couldn’t imagine not doing it, he kissed her. A soft, bittersweet, lingering kiss that radiated through her, everywhere. In a voice so low that Shane may have imagined it, Eva whispered, “And lost.”
😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔
No one expects men to be flaw-free. Women are expected to absorb traumas both subtle and loud and move on. Shoulder the weight of the world. But when the world fucks with us, the worst thing we can do is bury it. Embracing it makes us strong enough to fuck the world right back.
“I’ve been roaming around forever, and I’ve never been anywhere I wasn’t itching to leave.”
And maybe that was what real, adult love was. Being fearless enough to hold each other close no matter how catastrophic the world became. Loving each other with enough ferocity to quell the fears of the past. Just fucking being there.
