"Sometimes happiness feels like a chore." A short story chronicling the relationships (and lack thereof) of Drew; in which nights and days are spent curled up in the tear-and-food-stained sheets, with and without the warmth of another living soul, because he has lived like this and he'll probably die like this -- whether he likes it or not. (As if life ever bothered to ask). Otherwise known as: Sleep is for the weak, and love is for those asleep. So Andrew shouldn't wonder why he's virtually a self-induced insomniac who might just very well die of loneliness one day.

A fan fiction based on The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. If Cassie actually makes this happen, I will murder her! Then bring her back to life and force her to fix it! THE PICTURE IS NOT MINE! I JUST FOUND IT ON GOOGLE AND THOUGHT IT WAS PRETTY!!

Avery and Andrew have been best friends since middle school; they're close. But they're about to get a whole lot closer when paired up for the project like no other: the baby project.

They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince, and I've got a real knack for choosing some of the slimiest, wartiest Kermits. This experimental nonfiction is an autobiography of first and last kisses, broken hearts and true friends.

❝ he told her the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night just to let her breathe. ❞ {memoirs from a girl who didn't realize how much he cared until it was too late.}

I was the 6th-grade "slut." And I kept a diary. So I decided to create The UnSlut Project in the hopes that my own diary entries could provide some perspective to girls who currently feel trapped and ashamed. I am publishing these entries one at a time, without changing a single word except for the names of the people involved. My limited commentary, which is confined to brackets in each entry, is meant to provide the relief of my current perspective, fifteen years later. The UnSlut Project: Working to undo the dangerous slut shaming in our schools, communities, media, and culture by sharing knowledge and experiences.

a cluster of thoughts, hidden below the very folds of my subconscious

This is a short story, based on a prompt given by the magazine The First Line a few months ago, about a girl and her deepest secrets. For me, it's fiction. But I know that there are people out there who have had this type of experience, and it shouldn't go ignored.

We hope you'll be inspired, shocked, amused, and touched by this selection of letters from the DearTeenMe.com website. 'How awesome would it be if authors wrote letters to their teen selves?' A year and a half later, you can pick up DEAR TEEN ME from Zest Books, read more on the website, or just kick back and enjoy the selection we'll be posting here. Co-curators: E. Kristin Anderson and Priya Chand. The individual letters are property of the contributing authors. We can't guarantee your head won't explode from the mix of angst and excitement, but you *will* enjoy the ride.

There in those city lights, there was no her and there was no him. There was just everything and nothing and the spaces in between, like flickering lights against a never-ending, black sky. There in those city lights, there was no love and there was no hate. There was just listening and talking and understanding every single thing, like the 'ready, stop, go' of car-chasers and dream-makers. There in those city lights, there was no sadness and there was no happiness. There was just candid smiles and wasted tears and bottom lips chewed off, like the overflowing boulevard of things unseen. There in those city lights, there was no lady and there was no man. There was just a boy and a girl, who promised to fall in love, not with each other, but in those city lights. [a blind collaboration by @hepburnettes & @cityscape]