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Huntley Fitzpatrick

What I Thought Was True

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Addictive, dreamy and contemporary YA romance at its very best! Perfect for fans of Morgan Matson, Stephanie Perkins and Rainbow Rowell's Fangirl.

Gwen Castle's Biggest Mistake Ever, Cassidy Somers, is slumming it as a yard boy on her idyllic island this summer. He's a rich kid from across the bridge in Stony Bay, and she hails from a family of local fishermen and cleaners. But then Gwen learns something new. Something unexpected. Sparks fly and secret histories unravel in a gorgeous, restless summer where suddenly the possibilities are endless . . .

What I Thought Was True is the perfect guilty pleasures, holiday read — and the second title in three very collectable YA contemporary romances by Huntley Fitzpatrick

‘A must for collections that can't keep Sarah Dessen, Stephanie Perkins, or YA summer romance titles on the shelves’ — Booklist

Huntley Fitzpatrick, author of the award-shortlisted and highly-acclaimed My Life Next Door,  always wanted to be a writer ever since growing up in the small costal town of Connecticut. She worked as an editor on teen titles at Harlequin before becoming a full time YA writer. She is also the author of the contemporary YA romances My Life Next Door and The Boy Most Likely To.  She lives in Massachusetts, USA.

Huntleyfitzpatrick.com
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370 trykte sider
Oprindeligt udgivet
2016

Vurderinger

    Suwashar delt en vurderingsidste år
    👍Værd at læse
    💡Lærerig
    💞Superromantisk

    Signe Bruun Dirksenhar delt en vurderingsidste år
    👍Værd at læse

Citater

    marti leonhar citeretsidste år
    And I can glimpse it all, trace the path we’ve come along, like the lines on a map. Four kids lying on the sand, fireworks as bright as shooting stars. Two friends on the dock, looking out at the unknown. A little boy leaping for his life, an older one doing the same. A firefly glowing in the night, caught by a boy who shows it to a girl. This girl bending to that boy’s kiss. An old woman who hasn’t forgotten what it was like to be a young one, leaning back on her glider, rocking her feet against the floorboards, looks out over the water, the ocean that changes and never changes. Horizons that seem like endings but only bend farther into the sky, curving into something new, beginning all over again.
    marti leonhar citeretsidste år
    I love you, you know, I told him, that night at the Field House. Sort of fiercely, in this aggressive tone I immediately wished I could take back—a challenge more than an admission.

    But Cass gets it. He gets me.

    “I do,” he said simply. And I knew he did. That that was true.
    marti leonhar citeretsidste år
    Cass is a better dancer than I am—not hard—but we know how, we know now, how to move together, so he dips and twirls me to the music, dance steps I never knew before.

    “You’re leading,” he breathes against my cheek.

    And I am. “Sorry,” I whisper.

    “S’okay,” he says. And it is.

    By chance, and maybe a little bit by design, we’re going to the same university, State College. He to study cartography, me, thanks to a Daughters of Portuguese Fishermen scholarship (granddaughter, really, but Grandpa Ben talked his way around the logistics), to study English lit.

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