Ada Goth sat up in her eight-poster bed and peered into the inky darkness.
If Imogen Crim had learned one thing in her two years at Lilyworth Ladies’ College, it was that controlling a school full of posh young woman was much easier than controlling a family of criminals.
Every day after school, she left earth for another galaxy.
The man in front of me has three dead goldfish in a Ziploc baggie.
The first day of my sophomore year of high school I somehow lost the ability to tie a tie.
According to the swim instructor at Gilford gym, I had the worst buoyancy of any human he’d ever seen.
I have a memory that is almost like a dream: the yellow leaves from Mima’s mulberry tree are floating down from the sky like giant snowflakes.
My parents told me that America would be this amazing place where we could live in a house with a dog, do whatever we want, and eat hamburgers till we were red in the face.
The whole thing feels like a prank at first, like something they planned – a joke with a punch line.
No one wants to be that girl who locks herself in the bathroom on her birthday like she’s on the brink of a nervous breakdown, but here I am, leaning my elbows on the toilet bowl, inhaling God knows how many private-part diseases, all in the hope of freeing myself of this birthday cake while freeing myself of my best friend’s wrath.