The Cider House Rules Novels & Stories

“It feels… quiet in here without pretending to be silent.” “That’s the idea,” he says. “House rules, abbreviated: no fighting under this roof unless it’s play or training; no shifting inside unless someone’s hurt or in labor; kitchen obeys June; no mindlink at the table; porch is for big feelings; if the light is on in the library after midnight, someone brings tea and doesn’t ask questions.” “Porch is for big feelings,” I repeat, smiling. “Efficient.” “It helps,” he says. “We’re loud people. Rules make it safer to be loud.”

"Melinda can deal with it. Grace asks about you. She wants to see you." "Really?" "Really. She likes you. Says you're cool." I smile. "Well, I am pretty cool." We clean up together, moving around the kitchen like we've done this a thousand times. It's domestic and normal and perfect. Later, as we're getting ready for bed, Richard's phone rings. Benjamin. "What's wrong?" Richard asks, putting it on speaker. "Christopher just bought another two percent. He's at fourteen percent now. One more percent and he can force the vote."

Willow I got that godforsaken video taken down. Bullshit IT guys pretend they know how to do something, then they can’t figure out a password reset to get into THEIR WEBSITE? It’s fine. I’m going to murder Devereux when I see him, though. Fair warning. We’re setting some hard rules next time we get drunk in public. Number one: no Jack. No boys. NO DICKS. I chuckle. Those are good rules. Willow Number two: No boys. Wait, I said that already. But I really mean it.

“At least we won’t have to pretend to like you anymore.” Eva covered her mouth, holding back a sob. Mr. Hart stepped forward. “It’s decided. The wedding is in three weeks. Do not try anything foolish.” Her stepmother walked in quietly then, holding a glass of wine. She smiled sweetly at Eva, like she always did for show. Stella smirked. “Don’t feed her too much. No point. She just needs to look alive until the wedding.” Eva stared at them all, her father wiping his hands like she was dirt, Damien smirking, Stella smiling in satisfaction.

I haven't talked to him since. Ma and Pa were sitting in the living room when it was time to leave for the party. "So who is hosting the house party this time?" "Cassandra." "You know the rules." "Yes, Pa. No alcohol, no drugs, and home by 1 AM." "12 AM!" "That was last year! Come on! 1 AM is not a big deal." "As long as you follow the rest of the rules, then fine." "Let the girl live, honey. She will only be a teenager once."

No one here believed anything was permanent except the company of the hungry. Carolina drank a shot of vinegar and passed the jar down the line. “New rule,” she declared. “When the sun goes down, we don’t talk about the city. We talk about the garden, and what fucked-up miracles we want to grow next. Or we don’t talk at all.” The kids cheered; the rule had already been in effect forever, but it felt better to say it out loud.

Billy rang the doorbell. The ring sounded loud inside the massive white house, even behind the heavy, pastel pink painted door. Billy had slipped in unobserved - the estate was named Gormwell, and it was surrounded by a low drystone wall - for the sleepy, bucolic fields and villages of Big Cidering were hardly ever troubled by interlopers of any kind. Clearly, Billy had not understood what was expected of him when Bumford had asked him to ‘case the joint’.

“My parents would definitely get over it. I'll convince them they're joking. I'd rather get suspended for days than leave this school.” I sighed and he stopped at his car, opening the front door. “What are you doing?” “Me? Well, We. We are going to your house.” “Isn't that a violation of the Rules? I'm not your real girlfriend so you're not supposed to give me a lift. And to my house? What for?” He raked his hands through his hair. “Would you chill? What's wrong with giving you a ride? As long as there's no sexual tension which is the main Rule. And I want to take you home so you can give me your document. Don't you understand?”

“Third rule, no fighting, no killing, no maiming, no pranks on people, no breaking up relationships, no illegal business, no stealing, no smoking, and most importantly, for every good deal, get your money in cash or kind.” “Really? I said that last rule.” I shook my head at Nora. “You give the rules, but interpretation is within my rights, and you have no right to meddle in that.” Nora argued, her stance firm. “Suit yourself.” "Nain." “No skipping breakfast, lunch, and dinner and no acting or modeling if I am not in the top ten in class.” “Nika,” "Talking." “Okay, we all have that settled. Why don't we go take a look at your classes? I had barely just finished speaking when a heavy scent inf

And underneath, a question: Do you want the man who makes the rules or the one who breaks them? I stared at it for hours. Then I did something I swore I wouldn’t. I wrote a rule of my own. RULE 9: You’ll both come to my room tonight. But only one of you will be allowed to touch me. The other must watch. And I slid it under both their doors. Now I wait. Naked. Plugged. Blindfolded. One will come first. The other will arrive later. But only one of them will win. “In a house with too many secrets, the final rule is the one that breaks you.”