This author brings something fresh to the 'new adult' genre of writing and it seems I'm not able to stop my admiration for her work. Intrigued by it's title and a newfound author I found myself falling for this authors debut writing style and since reading 'Bully' I've not once wanted to look back. It was love at first chapter when I first read the work of Penelope Douglas. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.'You reached me. I loved all those things, and I loved you. You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. There are a lot of words that I could use to describe you, but the only one that includes sad, angry, miserable, and pitiful is “coward.” I a year, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be nothing but some washout whose height of existence was in high school. Everything still hurts, but I know none of it is my fault. They made me uncomfortable in my own home. Your words and actions made me hate coming to school. What was worse than losing you, was when you started to hurt me. My rainstorm was gone, and you became cruel. The hurt returned, and I felt sick when I saw you hating me. Then one day, out of the blue, I lost you, too. It was like the part of me that died with my mom came back when I met you, and I didn’t hurt if I knew I had you. You were the person that turned things right again. My world felt so insecure, and I was scared. She had cancer, and I lost her before I really knew her. Being your sidekick gave me a sense of home again. We played hide and seek, you’d push me on the swing, or we’d climb trees. We’d play all day, only coming back for food and sleep. I remember I’d shovel in my breakfast as fast as I could, so I could go knock on your door. You were a tempest in the sun, the thunder in a boring, cloudless sky. You made me giddy with expectation, just like a symphonic rainstorm. On sunny days, as a girl, I could still wake up to that thrilled feeling.

I used to feel like a superhero, riding my bike over the dangerously slick roads, or maybe an Olympic athlete enduring rough trials to make it to the finish line. But it’s like this whole other realm of opportunity.

Everything is more beautiful in the rain. When the clouds roll in, I get filled with this giddy expectation. Thunder torrential rain, puddles, wet shoes.

The bully penelope douglas