You're Special. I'm Special. The Whole World's

She Was Tired Of Being Told How It Was By This Generation, Who’d Botched Things So Badly. They’d Sold Their Children A Pack Of Lies: God And Country. Love Your Parents. All Is Fair. And Then They’d Sent Those Boys, Her Brother, Off To Fight A Great Monster Of A War That Maimed And Killed And Destroyed Whatever Was Inside Them. Still They Lied, Expecting Her To Mouth The Words And Play Along. Well, She Wouldn’t. She Knew Now That The World Was A Long Way From Fair. She Knew The Monsters Were Real.

We're In English Class, Which For Most Of Us Is An Excruciating Exercise In Staying Awake Through The Great Classics Of Literature. These Works - Groundbreaking, Incendiary, Timeless - Have Been Pureed By The Curriculum Monsters Into A Digestible Pabulum Of Themes And Factoids We Can Spew Back On A Test. Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

I Hate This Place,” Tiara Whimpered. “it’s Super Creepy. Like A Haunted Chuck E. Cheese’s Where The Games All Want To Kill You And You Never Get Your Pizza.

But Sons Are A Different Matter To A Man. More A Duty Than An Indulgence.

She Was Too Much—for Zenith, Ohio. She’d Tried At Times To Make Herself Smaller, To Fit Neatly Into The Ordered Lines Of Expectation. But Somehow, She Always Managed To Say Or Do Something Outrageous—she’d Accept A Dare To Climb A Flagpole, Or Make A Slightly Risqué Joke, Or Go Riding In Cars With Boys—and Suddenly She Was “that Awful O’neill Girl” All Over Again.