The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer, #1)

by Jenny Han

I’d sit next to the radiator in history class and wonder what they were doing, if they were warming their feet along the bottom of a radiator somewhere too. Counting the days until summer again. For me, it was almost like winter didn’t count. Summer was what mattered. My whole life was measured in summers. Like I don’t really begin living until June, until I’m at that beach, in that house.

I liked that Conrad preferred to be alone, playing his guitar. Like he was above all the stupid high school stuff.

Sometimes it’s like people are a million times more beautiful to you in your mind. It’s like you see them through a special lens—but maybe if it’s how you see them, that’s how they really are. It’s like the whole tree falling in the forest thing.

Victory is a thousand times sweeter when you’re the underdog.

This moment between us, fragile and tenuous, snapped in half. It was over. It would do no good to wonder what he was going to say. Moments, when lost, can’t be found again. They’re just gone.

For me there was—is—nothing better than walking on the beach late at night. It feels like you could walk forever, like the whole night is yours and so is the ocean. When you walk on the beach at night, you can say things you can’t say in real life. In the dark you can feel really close to a person. You can say whatever you want.

“Best friends are important. They’re the closest thing to a sister you’ll ever have,”

It’s hard to throw away history. It was like you were throwing away a part of yourself.

Boogie Beach Shag CD

“For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) / it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.”