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“Right? The force of teen-girl passion could power nations.” With a twinkle in her eye, Eva launched into the mini-monologue she’d perfected ages ago. This part was still fun. “We’re taught that men are all animal impulse and id. But girls get there first.” “And then society stomps it out,” said the brunette.
“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.”
He’s one of the most vivid, true portrayals of masculinity I’ve ever read. Especially in the third and fifth books. Sebastian literally and figuratively sucks the life out of everything around him. And he’ll drain Gia one day, too—he knows he will—but he can’t stop himself from loving her. Maybe it’s ’cause he knows that in the end, she’ll survive him. He knows Gia’s tougher than him. By virtue of being a woman, she’s stronger. 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
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“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.”
