Nyla

“It shouldn't have mattered, not when Miel and the other girls in his class wore jeans more than they wore skirts. Not when they told their brothers what to do, and borrowed their fathers' books.
But there was everything else. The idea of being called Miss or Ms. or worse, Mrs. The thought of being grouped in when someone called out 'girls' or 'ladies.' The endless, echoing use of 'she' and 'her,' 'miss' and 'ma'am.' Yes, they were words. They were all just words. But each of them was wrong, and they stuck to him. Each one was a golden fire ant, and they were biting his arms and his neck and his bound-flat chest, leaving him bleeding and burning.
'He.' 'Him.' 'Mister.' 'Sir.' Even teachers admonishing him and his classmates with 'boys, settle down' or 'gentlemen, please.' These were sounds as perfect and clean as winter rain, and they calmed each searing bite of those wrong words.”
― Anna-Marie McLemore, When the Moon Was Ours

“Lou, what do you see behind us?'
'What? It's just... a lot of land.”
― Tillie Walden, Are You Listening?

“Straight people, he thinks, probably don't spend this much time convincing themselves that they're straight.”
― Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue

“Mom. It's too hot out. Can't we skip today? We could walk twice tomorrow...'
'We have to, Lou. We have to move every day, even when we don't want to.”
― Tillie Walden, Are You Listening?