The Three "f"s Of Being

Derek Lunged. He Hit Me In The Shoulder And Knocked Me To The Floor, Landing On Top Of Me. His Body Jerked, Like He'd Been Hit With The Spell, And I Let Out A Yelp, Struggling To Get Up, But He Held Me Down, Whispering "i'm Okay, It's Okay" Until The Words Penetrated.

God, I Loved Him. I Could Insist I Was Okay With Just Being Friends, That I'd Find Someone Else And Get Over Him, But I Was Fooling Myself. There Was No Getting Past This. I Loved Him, And Fifty Years From Now We Could Be Married To Other People, Never Exchanged So Much As A Kiss, And I'd Still Looking Into His Eyes And Know He Was The One. He'd Always Be The One.

Did You Use A Chainsaw?" Joey Said. "i Seem To Recall You Like Chainsawa." "there Wasn't A Power Outlet." Clay Turned To Me. "that's What I Want For Father's Day, Darling. A Gas Powered Chainsaw.

But Was It Wrong To Put Yourself First? That’s Called Survival, Right? If You’re Running For Your Life, You Don’t Get The Luxury Of Being Nice. They Were Going To Learn That. It’s Fine To Wave The Pompoms For Teamwork—all For One And One For All—but When Push Came To Shove, These Guys Wouldn’t Be Risking Their Lives For Chloe, Maybe Not Even For Each Other. I Was Sure Of It. Once Things Got Worse, It Would Be Every Kid For Himself. It Always Is.

He Wore Sweatpants And A T-shirt And Had Stopped In The Middle Of The Hall, Furiously Scratching One Bare Forearm. "fleas?" I Said.