Who Wrote The Summer I Turned Pretty Novels & Stories

Love and what not were not all that important, but gossip was always a murderous knife. Watching Keane's father leave, Summer turned and went back to the room to get dressed neatly and tied her hair up into a high ponytail. Looking at herself in the mirror for a long time, Summer raised her hand to touch her cheek. She did not have much of an idea about how to be pretty, and she did not have much obsession with this face of her own. When she was still studying, others said she was pretty, and Samson also said that Summer was very beautiful.

Despite it being midsummer, the pear trees were all in bloom, and the ground was scattered with delicate petals, creating a beautiful, dreamlike atmosphere. When she had first agreed to Mitchell's courtship, it had been during the spring, the season when the pear blossoms were at their fullest. But Heather didn't linger on these memories for long. Her gaze shifted to Mitchell, whose intense stare held her attention. Even though she had already guessed some of what had happened from Vanessa's tears, seeing Mitchell in person still took her by surprise. In just three months, Mitchell had turned into a shadow of himself, his once muscular frame now gaunt and unable to even fill out his suit pro

I didn’t do it that night—I returned to bed, hands empty—but the knowledge that I could reach the latch made something inside me stop trembling. Disguise found me next. Carlene’s bundles of herbs were a curse and a blessing. She meant to mask my scent from the pack—pennyroyal, sage, feverfew—so small kindness could wear the shape of cruelty. I learned to turn that cruelty into cover. During the hours she slept, I ground a few bitter leaves between two stones until the room smelled of mint and smoke. I wrapped the bitter cloth around my throat and chest, pretending to be feverish, and when the servants came with water they leaned close and believed it. I let them think I was weaker than I was

With just seven days left until the college entrance exam, the high school's PA system suddenly crackled to life during the morning break. “My name is Lily Smith. I’m a senior. Before I graduate, I’d like to confess my feelings to my crush.” Inside the classroom, every eye instantly locked onto Jack. The room exploded into rowdy cheers and teasing. Jack felt his face burn as his heart hammered against his ribs. After all, he had spent three whole years cracking jokes to help his childhood friend, Lily, overcome the deep dark pit of her depression. On her eighteenth birthday, she had even initiated their first kiss. “You were the light that pulled me out of the darkness. I hope that once

~Miss Pretty Seeing the first page of her diary made her cry. That was the time she started to write a diary about her feelings for Thyago. That was the time she started to foolishly fall for him. When she looked closely at the page, something suddenly took her attention when she saw a little note written below her notes. When she checked it, it was like a note so she read it. Dearest Miss Pretty: I have a confession to make. The very first time I saw that cute little girl named Bea, I know something strange tugged in my chest deep inside and maybe I'm not aware of it. She was so adorable, cute, shy, and smart.

Dear Reader, When I first dreamed of I Was More Than Pretty, I didn’t intend to write about revenge. I intended to write about returning. Returning to yourself. Because so many of us — myself included — have spent years bending and breaking to be loved. We’ve changed our faces, our voices, our truths. We’ve smiled through pain. We’ve stayed in rooms that drained us. We’ve called betrayal “love” because the silence of loneliness felt worse. And then one day, something shifts.

I looked up, and under the shade of the trees, he stood quietly—tall and composed—but his face was hidden in shadow. It was summer, and the cicadas buzzed noisily in the background. It suddenly brought me back to the end of the video I had seen in the theater. He had been sitting there, hands clenched tightly together, saying, “Sadie, I want you to be happy.” Even now, I couldn’t forget those words. So, I answered him, “Because someone wants me to be happy.”

The curtains were closed after that, and the comments that popped up were all exclaiming in delight. "No wonder Austin's such a popular villain! Did you see how handsome he was in the morning light? Oh my god, I can't breathe properly." "I think I know why that transmigrator left in the end. Do you know how torturous it must have been for her in the past five years? "She had such a handsome man by her side, and yet, she wasn't allowed to touch him. I'd have given up a long time ago if I were her!" "Does anyone have the emoji sticker with the crotch on fire? Send it to me, please. I need it right now."

“Did I just hear you moan my name, Simone?” I look at him, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. I’d just come undone thinking about him, of course I’d say his name. “Yes, Daddy…” I murmur, biting down hard on my lower lip as I let my knees fall apart, unashamed of the glistening moisture slicking my thighs. “Or should I say Father King? Or Professor King?” I let out a low breath, tracking the dark, dangerous shift in his eyes. “I prefer Daddy though, but I’ll call you whatever gets your hands on me.” ~~~~ Simone Grayson slept with a stranger one reckless night and discovered too late that he was someone off-limits. He turned out to be her professor and was supposedly owned by God.

Over summer break, right after graduation, my parents, Stuart and Rachel Powell, decided the whole family would take a road trip together. But the moment I hauled my suitcase up to the car door, Mom's hand shot out to stop me. "There's no room. Maybe you should just sit this one out." She glanced back at the seat behind her. "Aiden doesn't want you along, either. He's not feeling well right now, so give way to him." My knuckles went white on the suitcase handle, and my throat turning bitter. Aiden was the biological son they'd lost years ago and only just found again. Ever since he came back, everything that used to be mine had gone to him. Slowly, I'd been pushed to the margins of t