Bokelskere.no

Macon looked distressingly like my father when he came into my room when I was in fifth grade to explain the birds and the bees.

Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N. Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board, squinting. "Mercy Lynne, you´re cheatin´ again! What kinda word is that? Use it in a sentence."
"I´m itchin´ ta have some a that white cake."
"That´s not how you spell it."
At least one of them could spell.
Aunt Grace pulled one of the tile off the board.
"There´s no T in itchin´."
Or not.

"You´ve never been to Thanksgiving at my house."
"I´ve never been to Thanksgiving at anyone´s house. Casters don´t celebrate Thanksgiving. It´s a Mortal holiday."
"Are you kidding? No turkey? No pumpkin pie?"
"Nope."
"You didn´t eat much today, did you?"
"Not really."
"Then you´ll be okay."

"I don´t know how you girls wear all this junk all over your face. It itches like hell."
Lena made a face. She almost never wore makeup; she didn´t have to. "You know, it´s not like we all sign a contract with Maybelline when we turn thirteen."

"I might as well be a monkey as a man, for all the good it does me at Greenbrier. Though merely mortal, my heart breaks with such pain at the thought of spending the rest of my life without you, Genevieve."

There was obviously some kind of loophole that had allowed Ridley to get inside. One of the wires in the Caster security system had blown a fuse.

"Who´s going to lie about something as creepy as that?"
"Have you met my family?"
"Right."

She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget.

This house was ridiculous. It made the White House look like a backwoods shack.

"I suppose I am a snob. I loathe townspeople. They have small minds and giant backsides. Which is to say, what they lack in interiors, they make up in posteriors. They´re junk food. Fatty, but ultimately, terribly unsatisfying." He smiled, but it wasn´t a friendly smile.