" As I looked at the matted bedsheets twisting around this boy and me, snaking across his naked waist, curling around my exposed chest, a draft rushes through the room, bringing a fresh chill with it.
That must be it. It’s chilly. It’s cold. It’s January.
Maybe it was snowing. We went sledding, I took a spill, changed out of my ice-cold clothes and then crashed here in Carver’s room.
No, it’s Carter.
Definitely Carter.
I’m naked in bed with a boy and I can’t even get his name right. "
― , The Mockingbirds (The Mockingbirds, #1)