There was a boy in her room. Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell
There were two things everyone knew about Miranda viable before she’d even started at our school. The first was that she had no parents- they were dead. And the second was that they were dead because Miranda had killed them. Shift, Em Bailey
Princeton, in the summer, smelled of nothing, and although Ifemelu liked the tranquil greenness of the many trees, the clean streets and stately homes, the delicately overpriced shops and the quiet, abiding air of earned grace, it was this, the lack of a smell, that most appealed to her, perhaps because the other American cities she knew well had all smelled distinctly. Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
There’s these two kids, boys, sitting close together, squished in by the big arms of an old chair. Half Bad, Sally Green.
Here is the boy, drowning. More Than This, Patrick Ness
To start with, look at all the books. The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides.
The solitary jigsaw sits in the corner of the living room, daring me to ignore it. The Pile of Stuff at the Bottom of the Stairs, Christina Hopkinson.
I am soaring free. Blaze (or Love in the Time of Supervillains), Laurie Boyle Crompton.
The ornate script on the board twisted in the candlelight, making the letters and numbers dance in my head. The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer, Michelle Hodkin.
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