Cheers, Carter. At Least You Have The

The Horse Seemed To Bend Time And Space As He Ran, Blurring The Landscape And Making Frank Feel Like He'd Just Drunk A Gallon Of Whole Milk Without His Lactose-intolerance Medicine: "seven Hundred And Fifty Miles Per Hour. Eight Hundred. Eight Hundred And Three. Fast. Very Fast.

I Figure The World Is Basically A Machine. I Don't Know Who Made It, If It Was The Fates, Or The Gods, Or The Capital-g God Or Whatever. But It Chugs Along The Way It's Supposed To Most Of The Time. Sure, Little Pieces Break Off And Stuff Goes Haywire Once In A While, But Mostly... Things Happen For A Reason.

My Name Is Carter Kane. I'm Fourteen And My Home Is A Suitcase.

I Found Myself Staring At Her, Which Was Stupid Since I'd Seen Her A Billion Times. Still, She Seemed So Much More Mature. It Was Kind Of Intimidating. I Mean, Sure, She'd Always Been Cute, But She Was Starting To Be Seriously Beautiful.

In Case You're Wondering, The Underside Of A Sheep Doesn't Smell That Great. Imagine A Winter Sweater That's Been Dragged Through The Mud And Left In The Laundry Hamper For A Week. Something Like That.