The beach is cold. Sierra’s never been on a beach that’s cold before. Back in Malibu, the only type of weather was beach weather: balmy skies, just enough salt on the breeze, and sunshine that kept her naturally pale skin tan year-round. This beach is most definitely not Malibu. Scruffy pines line the crumbling cliff faces, and everywhere she looks is gray: gray sand, gray sky, gray sea.
Sophomore year, our history teacher made us keep a daily journal of news headlines that caught our attention. On Friday mornings, we chose one headline each, and shared a summary of the story. A pattern soon emerged.
There’s a girl on the rooftop. I’ve never been up here with someone else before. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone else knew how to clamber to the top of James Madison Memorial High School other than the jocks who drunkenly dare each other to do it at post-game parties. But this girl isn’t a jock. . .
My stomach still turns at the thought of this, how clean and quick it was. How medical. And how easily Marcus had convinced me that what we did was right. [ . . .]
Perfectly easy twist on a Fourth of July classic. Enjoyed by all, but especially your boyfriend’s parents, and you’ll be so flattered that your dessert is the first one gone that you won’t even scold him when he puts his hand on your butt for the family photo. [. . .]
Audrey tells me to step over the shattered glass at the foot of the escalator. “Come on, Emma,” she says. “You can’t get a good Instagram pic without a little risk.” [. . . ]
My dad began to add a second story and a garage onto our house, but never finished the project. Now, coffee tins full of nails line the driveway. Chunks of lumber are strewn across the lawn. A permanent construction zone, this chaotic house is the perfect metaphor for my chaotic life.[…]
Ron says men are allowed to give themselves hugs, and even to hug other men. That that’s the whole point of all those cowboy movies, and it doesn’t make you a wussy, it makes you a full-hearted man. Mom says this is one of the great things about Ron.[…]
When Michael arrived, there were no flames licking up the building, but he could still feel the heat waves emanating from below. The fire had started low and restricted itself to one floor, the bottom floor where Michael and his mother lived. He took a breath and tried to sniff out the burnt scent of his room and all its used furniture.[…]
Sometimes we’d be sitting on the floor, with our backs against the wall and our hands would get so close that our pinkies would touch. When that happened, it was like my body received an infusion of electricity and I’d have enough energy to run a marathon three times over. […]
She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Fine art, I think, worthy of the masters; no, better than the masters. Da Vinci couldn’t have painted her better than this traffic light. Donatello would’ve messed up her nose. Botticelli doesn’t even bear mentioning.[…]
But I couldn’t put her away. I was mourning. And I needed to mourn. That’s healthy.[…]
They grin—a subtle, instinctive apology offered on a crooked row of short, fat teeth screaming for braces and fluoride. Held out on a silver tray, the smile is meant to flatten the offense they don’t yet recognize. They’re too young and they don’t understand taxes or sex or the government or the reason they’re the ones chosen for the roles of Mary and Joseph in the Christmas play every year, but something about this feels right for them.[…]
He used to search desperately for them—these mysterious people—but their voices would fade out of earshot whenever he thought he might be getting close. But he knows they’re there.[…]
Part of me wanted to turn back, but I couldn’t look away. My camera was my shield. Hiding behind it made everything feel slightly less real, like I was watching a movie instead of the massacre of my own childhood.[…]
I take a breath and hold it before putting my key in the lock. It’s four o’clock on a Thursday, which means Mom is on her way home from work at Boutique Aspirations. It sounds nice. Imagine a boutique selling hopes and dreams, but the boutique is a vacuum-repair shop. Her job literally sucks. Aspirateur […]
[fiction] When we were kids, Elliott and I could read each other’s minds. It wasn’t like it is in movies, where one twin thinks in complete sentences and the other receives a live stream to their brain. We didn’t need words. When I played catcher, I always knew exactly how Elliott would throw. When my […]
[fiction] Dr. Goon was the principal of Gecko Wacko High School and all the students loved him because that’s how he programmed them, and how did he program them? With the Gecko Wacko De Facto Smack-You-Later. The Gecko Wacko De Facto Smack-You-Later was an archway, kind of like the entryway at an airport that electronically […]
[fiction] Kristen’s dog is named Banjo. He’s big—not just tall, fluffy too, and cream-colored like the living room carpet. When I pet him, my hands sink down all the way to the second finger joint. He’s so big, he reminds me a little of the horses up at the farm. I was never really around […]
[fiction] Nora Brown was running. Not the strained, sweating through a rough cotton t-shirt running of gym class—this was different than any running she’d ever done in her life. She was a human laser, slicing along the roadside fast enough to pass cars moving in her direction. She could hear everything happening within her body […]
[fiction] My name is Charlie Heron, and I am Jesus Christ. * * * Of course, you can’t possibly think that I’m telling the truth. Probably think I’m a tweaker or a schizo. But I mean, you can think what you want—I won’t judge. I’m Jesus, remember? It’s the first day of my senior year […]
[fiction] Stage One—Let Go of Your Fear Start out in shallow, warm waters. If you’re learning to swim where there’s a current, be aware of the flow. If you insist on learning to swim this way, make sure you’re with someone who knows what she’s doing. Try floating. Try breathing underwater. Don’t panic. Wear goggles […]
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