There are too many worlds in my head – Palomino High School, The Store, the Gathering- all with their own confusing laws of nature, gravitational strengths, and speeds of light, and really all I want to do is reach escape velocity, bust out into space, and form my own planet tweaked just how I want it.
Planet Frank. Invitation only.
To be fair, when the alarm goes off, there’s barely even any smoke rising out of the oven.
“Um, is the apartment on fire?”
I lower the screen of my laptop down, where my older sister Paige’s now scowling face is taking up half the screen on a Skype call from UPenn. The other half of the screen is currently occupied by the Great Expectations essay I have written and rewritten enough times that Charles Dickens is probably rolling in his grave.
“Nope,” I mutter, crossing the kitching to shut the oven off, “just my life.”
“Jeb is an anchor; he holds me grounded to my humanity and compassion. But Morpheus is the wind; he drags me kicking and screaming to the highest precipice, shoves me off, then watches me fly with netherling wings. When Jeb’s at my side, the world is a canvas–unblemished and welcoming; when I’m with Morpheus, it’s a wanton playground–wicked and addictive.”