You’re talking too much. Girls always talk too much. It’s why I never win the game.
Even then she was never a runner, so now here she is, running up this hill in an ugly raincoat toward a line of yipping boys who are just now cresting the peak
The tiniest detail is part of the bigger structure and goals for the story, always.
We waded to the lake in skirts and filled our best bone china—the water like a covenant, the taste like sugared silver.
There were also retired old farmers and their white-haired wives watching, chewing hot dogs and looking at me like I was something grave, offensive to all the hard work they’d known growing up. However, I felt like something meaningless, insubstantial.
I try to write something new at least 3 to 5 times a week, and I tell myself that it doesn’t have to be good.
It was the deepest secret I had to give, that love scared me when everyone else our age seemed to find such hope in it.
First, two to five (never all, never none) of the ant’s legs fly off from its thorax and abdomen.
Holding onto something that burns her is a skill of will that will stay with her for decades, maybe her whole life. But she doesn’t know that yet.
I already know the order from the other night. A wrap, veggie. Fries on the side. The two gin and tonics I made disappear.