Book Spotlight: Almost Impossible by Nicole Williams

Almost Impossible
by Nicole Williams
Date Released: June 19, 2018

About Almost Impossible
Fans of Sarah Dessen, Stephanie Perkins, and Jenny Han will delight as the fireworks spark and the secrets fly in this delicious summer romance from a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.

When Jade decided to spend the summer with her aunt in California, she thought she knew what she was getting into. But nothing could have prepared her for Quentin. Jade hasn't been in suburbia long and even she knows her annoying (and annoyingly cute) next-door neighbor spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E. 

And when Quentin learns Jade plans to spend her first American summer hiding out reading books, he refuses to be ignored. Sneaking out, staying up, and even a midnight swim, Quentin is determined to give Jade days—and nights—worth remembering.

But despite their storybook-perfect romance, every time Jade moves closer, Quentin pulls away. And when rumors of a jilted ex-girlfriend come to light, Jade knows Quentin is hiding a secret—and she's determined to find out what it is.


Read my 3.5-starred review of Almost Impossible.

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An Excerpt from Almost Impossible
Holy pink.
   
Hot pink, light pink, glittery pink, Pepto-Bismol pink—every shade, texture, and variety of pink seemed to be represented inside this square of space.
   
“What do you think?” Aunt Julie gushed, moving up beside me with a giant smile.
   
“I love it,” I said, working up a smile. “It’s great. So great. And so . . . pink.”
 
“I know, right?” Aunt Julie practically squealed. I didn’t know she was capable of anything close to that high-pitched.
   
“We hired a designer and everything. I told her you were a girly seventeen-year-old and let her do the rest.”
   
Glancing over at the full-length mirror framed in, you bet, fuchsia rhinestones, I wondered what about me led my aunt to classify me as “girly.” I shopped at vintage thrift stores, lived in faded denim and colors found in nature, not ones manufactured in the land of Oz. I was wearing sneakers, cut-offs, and a flowy olive-colored blouse, pretty much the other end of the spectrum. The last girly thing I’d done was wear makeup on Halloween. I was a zombie.
 
Beside me, Mom was gaping at the room like she’d walked in on a crime scene. A gruesome crime scene.
 
“What the . . . pink?” she edited after I dug an elbow into her.
 
“You shouldn’t have.” I smiled at Aunt Julie when she turned toward me, still beaming.
 
“Yeah, Jules. You really shouldn’t have.” Mom shook her head, flinching when she noticed the furry pink stool tucked beneath the vanity that was resting beneath a huge cotton-candy-pink chandelier.
 
“It’s the first real bedroom this girl’s ever had. Of course I should have. I couldn’t not.” Aunt Julie moved toward the bed, fixing the smallest fold in the comforter.
 
“Jade’s had plenty of bedrooms.” Mom nudged me, glancing at the window.  She was giving me an out. She had no idea how much more it would take than a horrendously pink room for me to want to take it.
 
“Oh, please. Harry Potter had a more suitable bedroom in that closet under the stairs than Jade’s ever had. You can’t consider something that either rolls down a highway or is bolted to a hotel floor an appropriate room for a young woman.” Aunt Julie wasn’t in dig mode; she was in honest mode.
 
That put Mom in unleash-the-beast mode.
 
Her face flashed red, but before she could spew whatever comeback she had stewing inside, I cut in front of her. “Aunt Julie, would you mind if Mom and I had a few minutes alone? You know, to say good-bye and everything?”
 
As infrequently as we visited the house on Providence Avenue, I fell into my role of referee like it was second nature.

“Of course not. We’ll have lots of time to catch up.” Aunt Julie gave me another pat on the shoulder as she headed for the door. “We’ll have all summer.” She’d just disappeared when her head popped back in the doorway. “Meg, can I get  you anything to drink before you have to dash?”
 
“Whiskey,” Mom answered intently.
 
Aunt Julie chuckled like she’d made a joke, continuing down the hall.
 
I dropped my duffel on the pink zebra-striped throw rug.
 
“Mom—”
 
“You grew up seeing the world. Experiencing things most people will never get to in their whole lives.” Her voice was getting louder with every word. “You’ve got a million times the perspective of kids your age. A billion times more compassion and an understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around you. Who is she to make me out to be some inadequate parent when all she cares about is raising obedient,  genius robots? She doesn’t know what it was like for me. How hard it was.”
 
“Mom,” I repeated, dropping my hands onto her shoulders as I looked her in the eye. “You did great.”
 
It took a minute for the red to fade from her face, then another for her posture to relax. “You’re great. I just tried not to get in the way too much and screw all that greatness up.”
 
“And if you must know, I’d take any of the hundreds of rooms we’ve shared over this pinktastrophe.” So it was kind of a lie, the littlest of ones. Sure, pink was on my offensive list, but the room was clean and had a door, and I would get to stay in the same place at least for the next few months. After living out of suitcases and overnight bags for most of my life, I was looking forward to discovering what drawer-and-closet living was like.
 
Mom threw her arms around me, pulling me in for one of those final-feeling hugs. Except this time, it kind of was a final one. Realizing that made me feel like someone had stuffed a tennis ball down my throat.
 
“I love you no matter what,” she whispered into my ear again, the same words she’d sang, said, or on occasion shouted at me. Mom never just said I love you. She had something against those three words on their own. They were too open, too loosely defined, too easy to take back when something went wrong.

I love you no matter what had always been her way of telling me she loved me forever and for always. Unconditionally. She said that, before me, she’d never felt that type of love for anyone. What I’d picked up along the way on my own was that I was the only one she felt loved her back in the same way.
 
Squeezing my arms around my mom a little harder, I returned her final kind of hug. “I love you no matter what, too.”


About Nicole Williams
Nicole Williams is the New York Times bestselling author of Crash, Clash, and Crush, and numerous other books, including her first young adult novel, Trusting You & Other Lies, which Booklist called “a charming summer romance”. While never getting to travel the globe at a young age like Jade, Nicole spent her youth imagining all the exotic places she'd go and the adventures she'd have along the way.

Nicole loves reading and writing books about star-crossed lovers and happy endings, but believes some of the best stories are the ones we create every day. Nicole lives with her family in the Evergreen State with her husband and daughter, and they try to travel and find adventure every chance they get. 

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