You Don't Want Me Here, I Don't

He Hadn’t Been Peeping Intentionally; He’d Been Trying To Sneak Into My Room. So That Was Slightly Less Creepy, I Supposed.

Who Was That?” I Whispered, As If The Walls Could Hear Me. They Were Lined With Pictures, A Few Of Which I Recognized As Being Painted By Master Painters. “rhys.” “yeah, I Know But… Is He My Brother?” I Asked. I Had Already Decided That He Was Foxy, So I Really Hoped That He Wasn‟t.

My Only Experience With Dances Was What I Had Seen On Tv, But It Really Wasn’t That Far Off. The Theme Appeared To Be “crepe Paper In The Gymnasium,” And They Had Mastered It Perfectly.

My Mom Has A Tape From When I Was, Like, 2 Years Old, Talking With My Grandma, Telling Her A Story That's Really Elaborate About Werewolves And Wolves.

I Loved Jack Because Of Every Little Thing About Him. The Way He Laughed, The Way He Made Me Smile, The Way He'd Stay Up Until Nine In The Morning Watching Zombie Movies He'd Seen A Hundred Times, And The Way He Could Never Hold A Grudge. I Loved Him Because I Loved Him, Not Because It Was Fate Or Destiny Or In My Blood, We Had Chosen Each Other, And That Felt More Powerful And More Magical.