Why Does Normal Sucks Resonate With Readers?

My girlfriend's so-called guy best friend found out I had epilepsy. He deliberately spiked my drink with stimulants. The moment I drank it, my nervous system was overstimulated. My heart rate surged. My chest tightened. Then the familiar warning signs hit–blurred vision, fragmented awareness, the onset of a seizure. The next second, I lost control of my body and collapsed onto the floor. My muscles convulsed violently. My jaw locked tight. My breathing turned uneven. I struggled to pull out the emergency medication I always carried with me, trying to stop the seizure from worsening. However, just as I was about to take it, I realized the hot water in my bottle had been replaced with highly concentrated coffee. The extra caffeine intensified the neurological stimulation. My convulsions worsened. My thoughts became more chaotic. My fingers stiffened to the point where I could barely move. Aaron Stone looked down at me on the floor and laughed. "Not bad. You're pretty convincing. "I've seen plenty of seizure patients before. Never seen anyone act this well." Gasping for air, I forced myself onto my knees in front of Mia, my jaw tightening from the spasms. "Mia... call an ambulance... I'm having a seizure..." Mia frowned at my obvious condition, but there was only impatience on her face. "Enough already. "If you keep acting like this, it's honestly too much. Since when can people having seizures still talk? "Aaron's a doctor. With him here, what could possibly happen to you?" I stopped trying to explain. Because I was already entering the next stage of neurological collapse. Even speaking had become difficult. Using the last of my strength, I pulled out my phone and sent an emergency distress message.

She had her whole junior year mapped out. Volleyball. Late nights with her friends. Maybe telling her brother's best friend the thing she's been not-saying for two years. Then her left leg started hurting and a Tuesday trip to the ER rewrote everything. Sloane Deshazo, sixteen, has spent her whole life being easy to love. No drama, no needs, no complications. Ewing Sarcoma, stage 2, doesn't care about any of that. And neither, it turns out, does Chandler Pavelka, who keeps showing up without being asked, in yesterday's jeans and an inside-out hoodie, like staying is the most obvious thing in the world. Sloane knows how to fight. She's learning, slower, how to let someone stay. But remission isn't guaranteed, and some days the scariest thing isn't the diagnosis. It's wanting something this much.

a really good book for you. I hope you like it becuase it tells you a good story. Please read it.

In the madness of life, we find the madness of life in ourselves. We are a reflection of the madness of life. We are the embodiment of a crazy life.

[I don't want to die, but I'm tired of picking myself up every time I fall. Won't you please carry me?] Emilie is bullied because of her selective mutism. The popular girls at her college think she is a freak who won't survive the real world since she won't speak up for herself. One day, they steal her clothes at a pool party and force her to venture out dressed in only a towel. She knocks on a random door without knowing it's Brandon Brooks's home. He is the most popular guy at her college - rich and attractive - and she is convinced he won't help her. Brandon thinks she is a loser like everyone else, but there is one thing Emilie doesn't know about him: he isn't heartless.

After the Ritualist declared that Amber would not live past 18, I, a perfectly healthy girl, became the Misfortune Vessel. When Amber broke a leg, my left leg was crippled. When Amber tried to kill herself with shards of glass, the tendons in my hand were severed. I could no longer hold a pen. From childhood to the present, every wound meant for Amber landed on my body. She never stopped testing how far she could go. Skydiving from two miles up. Chasing sharks in deep water. Survival expeditions to the extreme North. Every choice courted death. I cried. I screamed that it hurt. My brothers refused to allow it. "Enough already. It's just a small injury. How could it hurt that much? You're too delicate." "If it hurts, then endure it." So I endured until the day I turned 18. That was when the Shared-Sense System found me. I enabled family sharing, and every single one of them went insane.