The girl he came in with acts like that's not the boy she dates.

I think that's the lyric, at least.

V is all kinds of cute in the Cedarville sweatshirt Tia gave her, coupled with a pair of leggings. I want a sweatshirt like that now. It's high-quality, and the inside is all kinds of soft. For the sake of the world, however, I won't be wearing leggings. YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME.

This is the part of the blog where I share some-not-all of my resolutions with you.

First up, I promise myself I will take my vitamins daily.

Secondly, I promise I will get more vitamins when I start to get low.

These two are extremely important to me. A while ago, my friend Adrienne told me to take iron supplements to combat afternoon lethargy. I tried it. It worked. It not only worked for the lethargy, but it really, really evened out a lot of my bipolar-ish issues. I'm so much more steady and productive and in control of my emotions when I'm on a good multivitamin. So yeah. For the sake of everyone else, I'm putting my needs first here. World of difference when I'm on them and when I'm not.

Drink 4 bottles of water daily. This one I'm working up to. I was up to three yesterday. This isn't hard, and we get Culligan water in huge tanks for very little money, and I love the way Culligan tastes. Or doesn't taste. Whichever.

Read one hundred books this year. I've already got 90-plus planned. I really want to get through all of them. I'm done with one and halfway through another, and have a chapter and an epilogue left of a third. I LOVE READING!

Give something new a fair chance when it comes to exercising. Yesterday I did very basic yoga stretching routine before I walked on the gazelle. Did it again this morning. And I like it. I love stretching. Srsly, it's one of my favorite things to do. So why do I tell myself it doesn't count? Because I like it, it must not be worthwhile? That's a sucky attitude.

The biggest thing I want to train myself to do this year is multi-task writing projects. I'm an all-or-nothing kind of person, so when I'm in the throes of one project I love, I don't want to stop and do the other projects that are required of me. I love drafting anew, but I need to be revising and working on my freelance stuff as well--without killing my momentum for anything. So...here's hoping I can work a little every day on all the things that need done.

That said, here's the first teaser for THIS I KNOW, which is an historical romance (not a YA though), set in 1898-1899 NYC.

The laughing, well-turned-out family I'd passed on the way in removed their coats with the help of several members of the theater staff. Besides being as high in fashion as any of the other theater-goers, the most noticeable thing about them was how each spoke to the workers as if they were their equals. Each member of the family made eye contact with each person, engaging in a conversation that might have lasted longer, if only their friends from the upper class would've let them alone.

But they weren't left alone. But two minutes in the door, and already the room had shifted into two distinct factions. Nearly a half of the nine thousand four hundred sixty two gravitated toward the coat check room, outside of which the family still stood.

The other half, however, seemed to flee.

"Who's this?" a voice burst across the room. I looked up; the man at the center of attention--the man I'd wished a happy Christmas to--had moved away from the crowd, toward Barnes and me. "A fresh face among the newspaper men?" I looked round at Barnes, who was scribbling furiously in his beaten brown cahier, his face flushed as if he were being called out in school.

I straightened my shoulders and looked the gentleman in the face. It was a good face, solid, masculine, high cheekbones balanced with a strong jaw and chin, and his eyes didn't seem to miss anything. "Yes, Sir. My name's Ian Cabot."

"Well, Mr. Cabot, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Nathaniel de Meer." He said his name as though it should have some tremulous effect on me, but I didn't recognize it. I tried to look impressed, however. "For which of our esteemed newspapers do you work?"

"The New York World."

"You're one of Pulitzer's men? Didn't Mike Rowling cover this beat? Nothing happened to him, I hope." He seemed genuinely concerned for Mike, the reporter whose place I'd indeed taken. Only now I noticed that, for the most part, the crowd around this family had fallen quiet, watching us.

"No, Sir. Mike's been promoted. He's been in Havana, covering the peace talks and restoration."

De Meer laughed. "Pulitzer considers war coverage a promotion?" He shook his head. "I'll have to talk with Joe about that one. Tell me, Mr. Cabot. Was this the job you applied for? Society page?"

"No, Sir. It never crossed my mind."

"But when your superior offered the position . . . ?"

"I took him up, Sir."

"What were you covering before?" No one, not a single person, had asked so many questions about me in my life. Something about the way he spoke seemed to dare other people to try to distract him from the conversation, and, of course, no one did.

"Obits."

His eyebrows shot up. "Obituaries? How does a young man like yourself make a leap from obituaries to society?"

A grin tugged at my lips, but I tried to keep it tucked away. "My editor said I'd blend in better than most on staff. Said I look good in a suit."

De Meer laughed again, this time sounding truly amused. He made a small turn, reaching his hand out to the young woman--the truly stunning young woman--I'd seen outside with him. She stepped forward, taking his hand.

It was hard not to stare at her: she stood taller than most of the women, her chin almost to my shoulder, and that was no small feat, since I was last measured at six feet two inches tall. Even at such a height, she appeared delicate and disarming. Her face was full and shaped like a heart, her eyes almondine and shining like peridots. What seemed a hundred small diamonds kept back her spun-gold hair, pulling it all together in a gentle knot in the back of her head. Pompadour was the style for ladies, piled on top of the head, but Miss de Meer made the rest of the women seem outdated, and even the youngest among them appear old-fashioned.

I already knew I'd never be able to rub her from my mind.

"Brita," De Meer said. It was almost as if presenting her. "Mr. Cabot's boss says he looks good in a suit. Do you agree?"

Grace was upon me, because my face didn't flush.

She smiled completely, which made her even more attractive. "I do. Without question, Mr. Cabot does look good in a suit."

And then I felt the blood flow into my face. I'm sure the crowd made some response or other--probably at my expense--but I didn't register it. Instead, I tried to pull my mind and eyes from her and focus on her father.