Freida McFadden

After all, my mother always said that the only way two people can keep a secret is if one of them is dead.

Men are all the same—in the beginning, they trip over themselves to give you anything you want, but then eventually, they take you for granted.

She’s been my best friend for five years! But now that Maria is around, it’s like I can’t do anything right in her eyes.

How can you get rid of a book? That’s like throwing away knowledge.

Boris and Mr. Petrovich converse for another few minutes while I stand there on the brink of tears. “Nyet!” I hear Mr. Petrovich say.

“What did he say?” I ask.

Boris at least has the decency to look apologetic. “He says his chest hurts.”

“Great.”

“I bet the boys just love you.”

“Not really.” And I can’t help but think of Sexy Surgeon.

“We’re going to live dangerously for a change.”

The phone is sitting on Mr. Sanchez’s night table, the speakerphone filling the room with the music of Taylor Swift, the same song over and over. I am starting to believe that we are never, ever, ever going to get that translator on the phone.

Whenever someone starts a sentence with “no offense but,” it means they’re going to say something really offensive. I hate that phrase. No offense, but if you say that, you’re a jackass.

“Jane, you are my kind of woman.”