Kristin Dwyer

Sarah Dessen meets Adam Silvera in the debut YA romance everyone is talking about!

Ellis and Easton have been inseparable since childhood. But when a rash decision throws Ellis’s life—and her relationship with Easton—into chaos, she’s forced to move halfway across the country, far from everything she’s ever known.

Now Ellis hasn’t spoken to Easton in a year, and maybe it’s better that way; maybe eventually the Easton-shaped hole in her heart will heal.

But when Easton’s mom invites her home for a visit, Ellis finds herself tangled up in the web of heartache, betrayal, and anger she left behind . . . and with the boy she never stopped loving.

Some Mistakes Were Made

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Life is just a series of small choices, and you can only see the one in front of you, but it leads you to the next and the next. Eventually, you’ve ended up somewhere you don’t even recognize.”

Collected them like pieces of memories, tucking them away into the parts of her heart that she could keep for herself. They were the only things that stayed. After she left. And she took all the breath from my lungs. After all the people who promised to stay left. And said they understood didn't. After all the laughter was gone. After the sun faded from the sky, I still had the words. They are all I have left. Written on scraps of paper that I tuck away into notebooks and boxes and pockets of pants to find later like buried treasure. Ilet paper and ink speak since she doesn't anymore. Bold. Even when she couldn't be. Those words are the parts of us I hide. They keep our secret. I breathe in and out with wordless breaths. I smile without language. I speak words that aren’t true. Only the words she spoke are. Only her. Words I feel deep down in parts of myself I can’t find without her. Words that whispered to parts of me that change a person. They trail behind me like morning fog clinging to the surface of the lake. They shift on the air and cast a spell. And they are all I have left of golden smiles, soft breaths, and summer skin stretched over a heart that beats in poetry. All I have left of mornings filled with honeyed light and whispers that slide across me like velvet. All I have left of initials carved into wood and the sharp points of dreams pushed into brightly coloured paper with faraway names written in latitude and longitude. I run my fingers against the inky flicks of the words and imagine her lips speaking them. She said she loved words and they are all I have left.”

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