I’d wanted to be seen as a good girl ever since I was a child, and good girls went to church. At least, that’s what my mother said.
I couldn’t stop staring at the flier all the way home. Tracy kept talking to me, but I was lost in my own world.
The party was packed with punks and stoners. The musk of weed plumed toward us as we squeezed through two stoned metal heads at the entrance to the living room, which was filled with too much smoke an
I hadn’t been on a date since eighth grade, and even then, it wasn’t much of a date.
There was a time when Tracy and I hung out together every single day. Sometimes we hung out so long that it bled into the next day, and sometimes that day turned into a whole weekend.
An interesting phenomenon occurred once everyone thought I was crazy. They started questioning every word I’d ever said.
I spent the weekend trying to cram a thousand workouts into two days. It’s impossible to do two months’ worth of working out in a weekend, but I tried anyway.
We were in a good mood as we walked down the hall and stepped onto the elevator, following the directions the nurse had given us. Once we reached the third floor, though, that all changed.
Basketball practice was hard when you were too tired to keep your eyes open. I got hit in the head at least three times every afternoon for the rest of the week, but that wasn’t the worst part.
Paintings of the Void hung all around Doctor Thatcher’s office. They were on every wall in her waiting room, and her therapy room. I didn’t know if it was elegant or macabre to hang a symbol of death
It started with a bang. No, a slap. My mother's head hit the floor. My father stood over her. We had to get out. If we didn't, my dad would kill her. So, we ran.
Pop’s house smelled of musk, born from years of neglect. Waves of stale air knocked the wind out of me.
