Lost in the Moment and Found (Wayward Children, #8)

by Seanan McGuire

Crying was like anything else; it didn’t matter whether it started all at once, it never stopped that way. Even when the tears were gone and dried and over, there was always snot. There was probably a lesson in that, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it,

Antsy’s anger got even bigger, burning in her chest like a candle. Candles start with small flames, but they can become house fires quickly enough if not watched carefully.

“You’re a child. If an adult hurt you, that’s on them, not on you. Being bruised doesn’t make you bad, unless you’re a peach, and even a bruised peach is good for making jam.”

That’s one of the things about living in a body. It can change, but the ways it changes today will be the ways it has always been tomorrow. If the modification isn’t noted in the moment, then it can be all too easily dismissed.

“They needed to know because a choice you make without knowing the consequences isn’t any choice at all!”

She was wearing more colors than Antsy knew could be worn at once, like she had looked at a rainbow once, and thought, “Oh, much too subtle.”