Nicola Skinner

When you’re born, you’re a baby. That’s something we can all agree on. But you’re not just a baby. No.

You’re a story.

A beautiful, bouncing, gurgling story.

A tale to be treasured.

“Oh, and Thea Thrubwell is coming. Is that okay?” said Ivy.

Obviously, it was not okay.

“I guess that’s okay,” I said.

You might live until you’re 101

but however you live and whatever you do, the story of your life will end with a death.

called it a disagreement—she called it arson.

I know, underneath it all, you’re trying to control your temper. We know it’s a challenge for you, and I love you for making an effort, I do.

If I’d known how things were going to turn out, I’d have done it all differently.

What happens to strong emotions if you’re not allowed to feel them? Where do they go?

My mind felt like a field at dusk, filled with secrets I couldn’t see, things that rustled in the grasses.

I realized that none of them were smiling. Just like that, the whole house changed. Like a drop of paint falling into water, sadness stained the room.