Mean.girl Quotes

Bitter people are not interested in what you say, but what you hide.

Step Away from the Mean Girls… …and say bye-bye to feeling bad about your looks. Are you ready to stop colluding with a culture that makes so many of us feel physically inadequate? Say goodbye to your inner critic, and take this pledge to be kinder to yourself and others. This is a call to arms. A call to be gentle, to be forgiving, to be generous with yourself. The next time you look into the mirror, try to let go of the story line that says you're too fat or too sallow, too ashy or too old, your eyes are too small or your nose too big; just look into the mirror and see your face. When the criticism drops away, what you will see then is just you, without judgment, and that is the first step toward transforming your experience of the world.

Mean girls go far in high school. Kind women go far in LIFE.

The moment you have to recruit people to put another person down, in order to convince someone of your value is the day you dishonor your children, your parents and your God. If someone doesn't see your worth the problem is them, not people outside your relationship.

Okay. I picked up a movie to watch tonight. You can watch it with me if you like. It's a chick movie. Merri Lee said that means girls like it, not that there are small birds in it.

Tell Liz,' I say, 'the mean girl totally got what she deserved in the end.

Bullies always get bullied themselves. They always get a taste of their own bitter medicine sooner or later. - Kailin Gow

You know how it is. Mean girls get mean in seventh grade and they stay that way until your ten-year reunion, when they want to be best friends again.

He sighed heavily. "Girls are mean. At least faeries simply kill you if they don't want you around." He put a hand on the wall, leaning against it and tapping his foot impatiently.

Aline!" Isabelle looked appalled. "You can't just go around asking people what it's like to be a vampire.

Bullies - when you pick on someone you think is smaller than you, or weaker than you, think again. That person you pick on may be the next President, the next Tycoon, the next General or someone who one day will own you; think again. And ask yourself, is it worth it? Is it worth being mean to someone when it is worth much more to be nice.

6th grade. My dog, Katie, is hit by a car and killed. A mean girl during recess says it committed suicide because it didn't love me. I cry and swear revenge on mankind.

Hey, Tate. Do you just screw in the locker room or do you do blowjobs as well?” Hannah Forrest, queen bee of the mean girls, shouted to my back while I walked to Calculus. Her drones laughed with her. I spun around to face them and held my hand to my heart. “And steal all of your business?” I took the time to enjoy their dumbstruck looks before I twisted on my heel and headed to class.

Whatcha doin', Freak Girl?" --------------------------- "What does it look like, brainiac?" I shot back, even surprising myself with the force of my jab. "I'll give you three guesses. No, wait. Don't strain yourself. Wouldn't want to hurt your head." I waved a flyer in his face, channeling my inner mean girl. "See these? I'm hanging them...on a...wall!" I spoke the last part slowly, as if addressing a dim-witted child. Which wasn't far off the mark, now that I thought about it. "With tape," I added, waving at the dispenser. "You know-sticky, sticky!

Why was it the hot mean girls always ran in packs, like hyenas?

I thought college would be different. I thought all the gossiping and backstabbing and bullshit ceased to exist once you left high school, but I guess mean girls can be found at any level of the education system.

I love our life and I especially love my mean girl.

I mean honestly, who just sits around in a house with a bunch of short guys waiting for their prince to come? So your mom is a bitch and wants to kill you because her mirror told her to? Cry me a river why don't you? Your big plan is sitting around cleaning house waiting for the other shoe to drop? And speaking of shoes, everyone has been picked on by mean girls. You do not wait for some old lady to pop in and transmogrify some innocent rodents just so you can sneak in to a dance under false pretenses. And let's say you do sneak in. For the love of all that is holy take your mask off and look the guy in the face and say. “Hi, I'm Cindy from down the street, I have this thing at midnight. Can we do coffee later?” This nonsense with a shoe and searching the entire village for one girl, it's crap.

Dear Girls Across the Globe, Let's stop body-shaming each other with hurtful comments about how another girl looks or doesn't look. We are all beautiful in our own unique way; so let's speak about each other with the dignity that we would want others to have when they speak about us.

An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.”—BUDDHA “Mean girls suck.”—AISHA TYLER

...Television is cretinizing me – I can feel it. Soon I’ll be like the TV artists. You know the people I mean. Girls who subliminally model themselves on kid-show presenters, full of faulty melody and joy, Melody and Joy. Men whose manners show newscaster interference, soap stains, film smears. Or the cretinized, those who talk on buses and streets as if TV were real, who call up networks with strange questions, stranger demands...If you lose your rug, you can get a false one. If you lose your laugh, you can get a false one. If you lose your mind, you can get a false one.

If there was one thing she excelled at, it was being her own inner mean girl.

Lainey is hot in a prom queen kind of way and we used to be friends back in grade school, but that was two lifetimes ago. Now she’s a varsity soccer player and card-carrying popular girl who hangs out with the kind of mean girls and douchebags who get killed first in horror movies.

Mean girls die young, sweetie. Take my word for it.

You have friends. You have a clique. You walk down the hall like you own the place.” “You seem to have mistaken me for the movie Mean Girls

You're so mean,' I said. 'You're like one of those people who upload pictures of themselves where they look really hot and the other person looks like shit.

KAREN On Wednesdays, we array ourselves in pink!

Claudius, you're luckier than you realize. Guard your appointment jealously. Don't let anyone usurp it." "What do you mean, girl?" "I mean that people don't kill their butts. They are cruel to them, they frighten them, they rob them, but they don't kill them.

So you’re the demon spawn,” Finley spit out. “Finn!” Aislinn snapped. Huh. So at least one of the Brannicks hated me. Weirdly, that made me feel better. That was normal. And if there was one thing I knew how to deal with, it was Mean Girls. “I actually go by Sophie.

There's a very mean girl down the hall who's trying to get me fired. I'm no good with confrontation, so whenever I say, "Have a wonderful day," to her out loud, I'm really saying, "Be nice to me or I will stab you in the face with a fork," in my head. I wish her a wonderful day at least once an hour. She's starting to get paranoid and jumpy about it, but there's really nothing she can do, because she can't complain about me wishing her a wonderful day without sounding totally insane. This is why you should never mess with nonconfrontational people. Because they're too unstable to second-guess. And because they're totally the kind of people who could suddenly snap, and stab you in the face with a fork.

Meditation is one of Mother Nature’s most powerful medicines and has no apparent side effects. It’s been scientifically proven that meditation helps calm the mind and de-stress the body. It also helps regulate blood pressure, lowers depression, induces the ‘relaxation response’, rewires the circuitry of your brain, enhances positive emotions, increases overall life satisfaction . . . And that’s just for starters!

Mean girls — you know exactly what they’re gonna do.

I suggest you think about your next comment very carefully or you may find yourself with the remainder of the gravy on your head.

Really?” “Yes. Lord of the Flies is like some Christian support group compared to the mean girls’ club.

Bonding over hatred Becoming a mean girl Won’t help you to win It’s just another stupid sin

When they went in for the kill, it was usually with words. Because mean girls don't kill. They dehumanize.

Perhaps if I'd had God in my life growing up I would have been able to understand the total and complete unfairness of the universe rewarding mean girls

Obviously life was a mean girl, and she was its bitch.

I’m beginning to feel like I’ve fallen into Mean Girls, Alaska version or something.

DAMIAN She doth not even go here!

REGINA Come hither, folly-fallen Cady, come! We shall anon unto the shopping mall.

There are no rules within this house of mine— I am no mother regular, forsooth! A cool mom I, ’tis so, Regina, yea?

Mean girls are a force of nature that transcends geographical and cultural boundaries.

Maybe I’m naive, but I thought college would be different. I thought all the gossiping and backstabbing and bullshit ceased to exist once you left high school, but I guess mean girls can be found at any level of the education system. It’s like visiting a farm—if you go there not expecting to see piles of cow shit everywhere, then you’re in for a rude awakening. And there’s a good SAT question for you. SCHOOL is to MEAN GIRLS as FARMS are to _______. Shit. The answer to that is shit.

If she believes that tigers live, then does she believe that Indians are hunted and dying? If she believes in fish the size of men, does she believe in men who string up others like linefuls of catch? Easier to avoid that history, unwritten as it is except in the soughing of dry grass, in the marks of lost trails, in the rumors from the mouths of bored men and mean girls, in the cracked patterns of buffalo bone. Easier by far to read the history that Teacher Leigh teaches, those names and dates orderly as bricks, stacked to build a civilization

That’s some reverse psychology Mean Girls shit right there.” Knight points at me with a piece of carrot and pops it into his mouth. Via gazes at him under her lashes, all doe-eyed and ready to charm his pants off. “And you are?” “Not interested,” he deadpans. I smile inwardly, bursting with happiness. Knight is loyal to a fault. Vaughn, too. Rumor has it, when she smiled at her in the hallway earlier, he breezed past her, and drawled, “You haven’t earned the right to talk to me yet. Try again in two months.

So now, not only did my best friend leave, but the cheerleaders and their mindless followers assumed I was personally responsible for the petition (which, yeah, I was) and started being openly rude to me - shutting doors in my face, leaving nasty notes on my desk and in my locker, making fun of me when I could obviously hear them. That's when I started keeping really quiet in class, and finding ways to show the other kids I wasn't afraid of them - like staring them straight in the eye when they looked at me, taking a step toward them when they talked to me, or walking right up to them and getting their personal space if I heard them say my name. Saying the meanest things I could think of whenever I had the chance - repeating rumors, embellishing them. I found out Kira Conroy had been arrested for shoplifting at the mall, and made sure everyone knew about it. The girl who burped in a boy's face during her first kiss, the girl who tripped and fell off the stage at the Miss Teen California pageant - I shared those stories the moment I heard them. All's fair in war, right? Suddenly I wasn't a nobody anymore. I was a somebody. Somebody everyone was afraid of.

My father wanted as little to do with his daughters as possible," Pandora said bluntly. "He considered us nuisances." Lowering her head, she mumbled, "Obviously I've proven him right." "I wouldn't say so." A touch of amused sympathy warmed the earl's voice. "My own daughters have assured me- more than once- that any well-meaning girl of high spirits can find herself in hot water now and then.

Girls compete against each other, like the sunflowers my mom tried to plant in her garden, the ones that never grew. She planted them too close together and they all vied for the same sun, choked green stems and sulking yellow faces. Flora was wilting, and I was about to be in bloom.

a frantic stream of words flows from us because we are in a constant process of adjusting our public image. we fear so deeply what we think, other people see in us that we talk in order to straighten out their understanding..... one of the fruits of silence (or keeping your mouth shut) is the freedom to let God be our justifier. we don't need to straighten out others. when we can allow God to justify and set things right, that brings us to believe that God can care for us-reputation and all

boy shouted out, and some of the other kids (mainly the boys) laughed loudly.

And to the little girl who lives inside of you—May she always remember that she is loved, seen, and sacred.

White feminism has bred far too many mean girls who think they are fighting for all women but who are really fighting just for the ones who look like them. Let

This was how I found out that there are an infinite number of things that can be “incorrect” on a woman’s body.

RA is the use of relationships to hurt another, a way of verbal violence in which words rather than fists inflict damage.

You can't be a proper officer with your dad holding your hand. Everyone at the police station will laugh at you.

She thought good things happened to good people. I know that girls are exempt from this logic. Good alone gets us nowhere.

REGINA —Nay, Gretchen, “fetch” shall never catch, Stop hosting an event no one attends. It shall not hap—the zeitgeist thou art not. The fad is bad; I’m mad and thou art sad.

Twas on October third he ask’d the date— By calendar, not for a date, I mean. ’Twas two weeks later when we spake again.

You never know what others are going through, I thought. Don’t judge who you don’t know.

Money isn't the only way to give back. You can make a difference by giving your time, a helping hand, or a smile, or simply by lending an ear and listening to someone in need.

It's a universal law that what you put out you get back in return. If you want to have more, you have first become and give more.

Choose only love. In every moment. In every circumstance.

There can't be joy until there is gratitude.

Everything outside us is a reflection of our internal state.

One girl to send her to the guillotine, one to cut the rope, and one to eagerly await the result.

You think it’s fair that people judge me without getting to know me first because I’m attractive?” “So you agree? You think you’re really pretty?” “Stop quoting Mean Girls,

Calling Mackenzie a "mean girl" is an understatement. She's a GRIZZLY BEAR with a French manicure and blonde hair extensions

My beauty school class was made up of mostly Italian girls. There were mean girls, there were shy girls, there were regular girls, and then there were the girls.

See you later, Ice.” Alice’s face fell a little. “It’s Alice.” “Mind if I go with Ice?” Usually, her name got shortened to Ali or Ally. Lice once, thanks to a mean girl in fourth grade. But never Ice. “Why Ice?” she asked. “It has the most beautiful crystalline structure.” Oh! He was flirting with her using molecular structures. If this wasn’t perfect chemistry…

Not really. You know how it is. Mean girls get mean in seventh grade and they stay that way until your ten-year reunion, when they want to be best friends again. At least, that’s what my mom says.

I did not write love songs as a sixteen-year-old. I did not write about crushes or about mean girls. I wrote about my life—about the injustices and inequities and the search for answers and self-responsibility.

My wife has always been my beloved mean girl, she fires emotional bullets when she’s pissed or upset. Not so much in the last years, not since she’s gotten a grip of her anxiety and dealt with a lot of her emotional baggage. I love her fucking mean. Not even lying when I say it makes me hard as stone. I love fucking her when she’s mad. But this is different. She won’t want me on top of her when she knows the secret I’ve been keeping.

I turned to look at my quiet, bookish mother, a woman I had honestly never seen swat a fly. “I’m sorry, but there is no way you grew up here. It’s not even possible.” There was a whirring sound, and I felt something pass by my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom’s hand go up, and suddenly she was holding the hilt of a knife-a knife that had apparently just been hurled at her head. The whole thing had happened in less than a second. I swallowed. “Never mind.” Mom didn’t say anything, but kept her gaze focused on Aislinn, who, I noticed, still had one hand slightly raised. She was smiling. “Grace was always the quickest of all of us,” she said, and I realized she was talking to me. Smiling at me. “Okay,” I finally said. “Well, I didn’t get that from her, in case you’re wondering. I can’t even catch a football.” Aislinn chuckled, even as Finley’s scowl deepened. “So you’re the demon spawn,” Finley spit out. “Finn!” Aislinn snapped. Huh. So at least one of the Brannicks hated me. Weirdly, that made me feel better. That was normal. And if there was one thing I knew how to deal with, it was Mean Girls. “I actually go by Sophie.

Well, three reasons. First, because I've been thinking about our Theorem and I have a question. How does it work if you're gay?" "Huh?" "Well it's all graph-going up means boy dumps girls and graph going-down means girl dumps boy, right? But what if they're both boys?" "It doesn't matter. You just assign a position to each person. Instead of being 'b' and 'g', it could just as easily be 'b1' and 'g', it could just as easily be 'bi' and 'b2.' That's how algebra works.

I always meant to watch that but I never got around to it. I’ll have to check it out. You ever watch Supernatural? I’ve been catching up on that. Up to season four now. It’s pretty good for a show about white boy tears.” Common ground. We had it in Sam and Dean Winchester.

She arrived home to Grandma Noreen talking from the television room. As she passed the room she saw that Sandy was still sitting in there with her. She went into the kitchen, filled a vase with water, placed the flowers in them and wrote out a note: I love you too. Please don't be sad, it will happen soon.

Mean girls come in all shapes and sizes. Some are blond cheerleaders, and some are Francophile brunettes who love Tim Burton and write song lyrics on their Converse. It was rarely the hellhounds who said anything mean to me; they expressed no real malice toward me other than the occasional eye roll. They were at the top and had nothing to gain by pushing me around. The ones who scared me, who still scare me, are the girls who see all other girls as competition, who see themselves as the persecuted ones, the ones whom the pretty and popular girls hate. When you believe you're persecuted, you will believe anything you do is justified.

Mean girls were symptomatic of most patriarchal cultures. Their appearance had always boggled me, as women had enough odds stacked against them. You’d think they’d band together rather than tear each other down. But then again, I’m sure the roots were based so deep in our patriarchal society, that it sought to do exactly that—keep them fighting.

It’s this authentic sisterhood that heals the wounds of our experience of being targeted by the ‘shadow feminine’ – such as immature ‘mean girls’ of all ages who compare, gossip, judge, compete, or exclude other women, often in subtle and manipulative ways. Inclusion is the way of the sacred feminine – that’s the healing power of circle as a practice.

Just because you choose to fill yourself up and address your own needs doesn’t mean you love your children any less. It actually means quite the opposite. It means you love your children so much that you want to be fully present and bursting with love when you’re with them and give them the absolute best version of yourself. Because that is what they deserve. Here’s

I remember not belonging. I was always Summer’s older sister—the plain one with the red hair and a gap between her front teeth. The first boy I had a crush on said my teeth looked like piano keys. My smile hid behind by hand until one day the captain of the hockey team said I looked like Madonna. It was like instant validation. Mine wasn’t a flaw, it was a feature . . . my unique trademark. I knew then I didn’t want to be perfect nor was my self-esteem tied to any clique. Starla reassuring teenage Willa of the correct perspective on self esteem and self-worth.

Mama used to tell me that blood is everything, but I think we’re all out here unlearning that sentiment, scraping our knees and asking strangers to patch us back up. I don’t say goodbye to Shauna and she doesn’t even turn around to watch me leave, to head back out to a sky that sunk into deep blue while my brother asked me to do the one thing I know I shouldn’t, the one thing Shauna cared enough to warn me about: hollow myself out for another person who ain’t gonna give a shit when I’m empty. The café lady sticks the pen behind her ear where her undercut fades from blue to hot pink and then blond, and she smiles the same way that the mean girls used to smile before they said I couldn’t sit at their table in elementary school, like she’s waiting for a punch or some kind of prize.

I have one priority in life and it’s not making millions as it once was. I have all the money I could ever want, too much, India claims. I’m business driven but it’s my girl who is the most important part of my life. My whole life. It’s that very reason I’m reluctant to bring any shift in our happy bubble. We both work hard. We play hard together. That woman is my equal in every aspect of life. She thrills me, and intrigues me. I’ve loved peeling back India’s layers. She’s vulnerable is my mean girl and I love the place we’ve gotten to where she trusts me with all her sad, unsure moments. She will grieve for her brother for the rest of her life. She’ll always worry about her mom becoming manic depressive again. She’ll forever be a woman who puts everyone else before her own needs. But what’s different in India’s life is she now has me who makes sure she’s first. In everything. It’s going to kill me to see the happiness drop from her eyes. She’ll go into fix it mode and when she can’t, she’ll get angry and stressed.

Pie?" I narrowed my eyes at her, and then down at the container in her hands, where there were chocolate hand pies lined up in neat rows. The So Sorry Blondies were all gone by then, devoured between me and Paul and the rest of the dive team, and the memory of their deliciousness was too fresh for me to resist another Pepper Evans creation. I took one of the mini pies with a wary hand, just as she pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and smirked. I stopped chewing. "Did you just tweet?" I asked, my mouth full of chocolate. Pepper swept her bangs back with her fingers, and this time the gesture was calculated and breezy. "Did I?" I scowled into my phone screen, lowering it under my desk so Mrs. Fairchild wouldn't see. This one was just a GIF of Regina George from Mean Girls--- "Why are you so obsessed with me?" "At least your pie is better than your tweets," I mumbled. But the smirk on Pepper's face only deepened. "Those are from the Big League Burger bargain menu, by the way." My mouth dropped open. Pepper turned her eyes back to her textbook, burying her smirk in it. "Enjoy.

By the end of the day, everyone was talking about my stupid drawing and how Henry was going to have to get a restraining order before I started showing up outside his window in the middle of the night. It was embarrassing. I wanted to melt into the floor just to stop people from looking at me. I guess Henry was embarrassed too, because he made his friend Anthony pull me aside to tell me that Henry wasn’t into girls who looked like me. I remember not understanding it. Girls who looked like me. Did he mean girls with dark hair? Girls who wore jeans instead of skirts? Girls who didn’t have their ears pierced? Or did he mean something else? For years I watched him hold hands with girls who didn’t look anything like me. And some of them had dark hair. Some of them wore jeans. Plenty of them didn’t have their ears pierced. But they all had one thing in common: None of them were Asian. Now when I have a crush on someone, I don’t wonder if they like the same music as me, or if they watch the same kind of movies, or if we’ll get along the way Jamie and I did. I wonder if they like Asian girls.

Because this land they live in is a land of missing things. A land stripped of its gold, its rivers, its buffalo, its Indians, its tiger, its jackals, its birds and its green and its living. To move through this land and believe Ba's tales is to see each hill as a burial mound with its own crown of bones. Who could believe that and survive? Who could believe that and keep from looking, as Ba and Sam do, always toward the past? Letting it drag behind them. Letting it make them into fools. And so Lucy fears that unwritten history. Easier to dismiss all Ba's tales as tall ones - because believe, and where does it end? If she believes that tigers live, then does she believe that Indians are hunted and dying? If she believes in fish the size of men, does she believe in men who string up others like linefuls of catch? Easier to avoid that history, unwritten as it is except in the soughing of dry grass, in the marks of lost trails, in the rumors from the mouths of bored men and mean girls, in the cracked patterns of buffalo bone. Easier by far to read the history that Teacher Leigh teaches, those names and dates orderly as bricks, stacked to build a civilization.

I landed on my side, my hip taking the brunt of the fall. It burned and stung from the hit, but I ignored it and struggled to sit up quickly. There really was no point in hurrying so no one would see. Everyone already saw A pair of jean-clad legs appeared before me, and my suitcase and all my other stuff was dropped nearby. "Whatcha doing down there?" Romeo drawled, his hands on his hips as he stared down at me with dancing blue eyes. "Making a snow angel," I quipped. I glanced down at my hands, which were covered with wet snow and bits of salt (to keep the pavement from getting icy). Clearly, ice wasn't required for me to fall. A small group of girls just "happened by", and by that I mean they'd been staring at Romeo with puppy dog eyes and giving me the stink eye. When I fell, they took it as an opportunity to descend like buzzards stalking the dead. Their leader was the girl who approached me the very first day I'd worn Romeo's hoodie around campus and told me he'd get bored. As they stalked closer, looking like clones from the movie Mean Girls, I caught the calculating look in her eyes. This wasn't going to be good. I pushed up off the ground so I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but the new snow was slick and my hand slid right out from under me and I fell back again. Romeo was there immediately, the teasing light in his eyes gone as he slid his hand around my back and started to pull me up. "Careful, babe." he said gently. The girls were behind him so I knew he hadn't seen them approach. They stopped as one unit, and I braced myself for whatever their leader was about to say. She was wearing painted-on skinny jeans (I mean, really, how did she sit down and still breathe?) and some designer coat with a monogrammed scarf draped fashionably around her neck. Her boots were high-heeled, made of suede and laced up the back with contrasting ribbon. "Wow," she said, opening her perfectly painted pink lips. "I saw that from way over there. That sure looked like it hurt." She said it fairly amicably, but anyone who could see the twist to her mouth as she said it would know better. Romeo paused in lifting me to my feet. I felt his eyes on me. Then his lips thinned as he turned and looked over his shoulder. "Ladies," he said like he was greeting a group of welcomed friends. Annoyance prickled my stomach like tiny needles stabbing me. It's not that I wanted him to be rude, but did he have to sound so welcoming? "Romeo," Cruella DeBarbie (I don't know her real name, but this one fit) purred. "Haven't you grown bored of this clumsy mule yet?" Unable to stop myself, I gasped and jumped up to my feet. If she wanted to call me a mule, I'd show her just how much of an ass I could be. Romeo brought his arm out and stopped me from marching past. I collided into him, and if his fingers hadn't knowingly grabbed hold to steady me, I'd have fallen again. "Actually," Romeo said, his voice calm, "I am pretty bored." Three smirks were sent my way. What a bunch of idiots. "The view from where I'm standing sure leaves a lot to be desired." One by one, their eyes rounded when they realized the view he referenced was them. Without another word, he pivoted around and looked down at me, his gaze going soft. "No need to make snow angels, baby," he said loud enough for the slack-jawed buzzards to hear. "You already look like one standing here with all that snow in your hair." Before I could say a word, he picked me up and fastened his mouth to mine. My legs wound around his waist without thought, and I kissed him back as gentle snow fell against our faces.

don’t mean girls can do just anything, or that there’s no such thing as immorality. I mean, that Balbec girl you were all talking about the other day, who’s supposed to be carrying on with that actress, well, I think that’s just disgusting—so disgusting, actually, that I can only assume it’s not true, but was invented by the girl’s enemies. It just strikes me as improbable—impossible, in fact. But letting a fellow that you like kiss you, and go even further, since you say you like me ...” “I do! But I’ve liked other fellows too. Believe you me, I’ve known other boys who were just as fond of me as you are. But there wasn’t one of them who would’ve dared do any such thing! They knew perfectly well they’d have got a good slap in the face! Anyway, the thought never entered their heads—we just shook hands in the usual way, like ordinary good friends. No one would ever have thought of kissing, but that didn’t stop us from being close friends. Look, if you really want us to be friends, then you can count yourself lucky—I must be pretty fond of you to forgive you like this. In any case, I’m sure you’re just teasing me! Andrée’s the one you really like—admit it! And I’m sure you’re right—she’s much nicer than me, and she’s beautiful! Oh, you men!” That Albertine should speak so openly was balm to my recent hurt feelings; and this gave me a high opinion of her.

Mike’s head hit his desk with a bang! Everyone turned to look at him.

gets in the way. You've gotta choose justice over jobs. "Angel, first, her name's Libby, not SHE!" I marched over to Angel, so tempted to pull her hair, but it wasn't worth it. "Second, she can't just get over it, but she will beat it with our help! We've all got fears. Hers is speaking. Mine is spiders. Angel, yours is--" "Don't say it!" She sank under the table. "I trusted you!" "Bunnies." Everyone, even Libby, burst out laughing.

if I’d ever give you anything.’ ‘Make her take it off,’ Rach said.

On her right arm, Sandy scrawled the word LOSER. On her left arm, she scrawled the word DUMB.

Remmy loved Harry Potter and was a self-confessed Hufflepuff because she classed herself as kind, loyal and she adored animals.

The Mean Girl Who Never Speaks

surname.

disdain. Marcus held her mom’s hand as they exchanged their vows.

The police left and Marcus strode purposefully into the kitchen, a stern look on his face. ‘They’re useless,’ he grumbled, reaching into the fridge for the carton of milk. ‘My daughter could have frozen to death and they don’t seem remotely concerned.

her eyes furiously. “My eyes hurt from staring at rooster

months’ time,