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Caroline B. Cooney

Caroline B. Cooney Books

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Twins

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What Janie Found

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Evil Returns

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Fatality

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Flash Fire

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Out of Time

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Wanted!

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“Heidi was coming up the hill. It must be her thousandth trip. She looked as if she needed a tow rope this time. She was carrying her own blankets back from the helicopter, having traded them for the blankets on board. She had obviously fallen in the mud. Both she and her blankets looked as if they had been mining for coal. Patrick found himself grinning. Possessively, as if Heidi were a part of him, and he of her. Patrick's father said to him, "You could do worse." "Huh?" "The girl. She's a cutie." "You just think that because she doesn't fall apart in a crisis." "I like that in a person," said his father.”

“Patrick's father yelled, "Hey! You two necking over there? Save it!" Heidi and Patrick looked at each other. Patrick's father yelled. "Get your --- uhhh --- get up here! I got work for you two." "He was about to tell me what part of my body I should get in gear," said Patrick, grinning. "Then he decided not to." "Both of us need to get in gear," said Heidi. "I don't know what I'm doing in Neutral when I have to stay in High." A spotlight caught her; the sopping hair gleamed, the cold ice-reddened cheeks tilted toward him; a smile of mischief teased him. For an entire five or six seconds, he thought about sex instead of rescue.”

“They ended up at the Old Corner Bookstore, which Brian had read about in a tour guide to Boston. "Longfellow and Hawthorne and Oliver Wendell Holmes used to read here. Let's go in." Brian nudged the girls until they obeyed. It was a regular bookstore, less history-minded than Brian had expected. In fact, the local history shelves were quite mangeable. I'll buy one book, he thought. This will get me launched in actual reading. Out of the zillions of choices, I'll find one here. Brian picked out Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. It was thick and somehow exciting, with its chapter headings and scholarly notes and bibliography.”

“It was darker in the tower than any place Devnee had ever been. The dark had textures, some velvet, some satin. The dark shifted positions. The dark continued to breathe. The breath of the tower lifted her clothing like the flaps of a tent, and sounded in her ears like falling snow. It's the wind coming through the double shutters, Devnee told herself. But how could the wind come through? There were glass windows between the inside and outside shutters. Or were there? The windows weren't just holes in the wall, were they? What if there was no glass? What if things crawled through those open louvers, crept into the room, blew in with the cold that fingered her hair? What creatures of the night could slither through those slats? She had not realized how wonderful glass was, how it protected you and kept you inside. She knew something was out there.”

“I wonder why we always deny love. I remember in middle school, if you were accused of the crime of loving, you screamed denials constantly and stopped ever even looking at the boy you were accused of liking. The boys could destroy each other by yodeling, "An-drew lo-oves Jen-nie," and both Andrew and Jennie would flinch and blush. Love is this great thing that most songs and books and poems and lives are all about. So the minute we actually think there might be love around, we start laughing and pretending and hiding from it.”