December 2009
chapter six, arriving, naturally, after chapter...
We spent the next hour and a half attempting to validate Kevin’s outburst and ended up with the verdict that Little Kevin had, indeed, deserved his verbal whipping, but Big Kevin was lucky that Little Kevin was so irreverent to the original Pokémon lineup; the behavior would’ve been inexcusable otherwise.
“I feel better,” said Kevin optimistically at the end of our deliberation.
We...
the fifth chapter, which starts out strong, but...
It didn’t take long for us to hit the interstate. Kevin had plowed his way through at least a dozen miniature Twix bars at this point.
“These things are better than macaroni and cheese, I swear,” he swore. “That’s saying something coming from me.”
“No kidding…how many boxes do you go through in a typical week?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Depends. If my parents are home, maybe...
the chapter following the third chapter but...
Kevin let himself in at precisely half past ten, as promised. While he had changed clothes, the basic components of his outfit remained the same: a zip-up hoodie, broken-in jeans, and beat-up moccasins. I was sitting on the stairs lacing up my black high-tops. He scoffed at them.
“I don’t think I’ll ever quite understand those things,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I know...
this is chapter three...i'm running out of...
I woke up at 9:37 to one deplorable sound and one delightful sound. Choosing to address the annoying before the heavenly, I answered the ringing phone, which was conveniently placed on the coffee table in front of me.
“…llo?” I mumbled, the first half of the greeting swallowed up by drowsiness.
“Spencer? Hey. It’s Dad.” He was even more gruff over the phone.
“Oh, hey. ...
chapter two because formspring wanted it
I stood there in my parents’ room for a spell, unsure of what to do next. What did kids do when they were left home alone for the weekend? The sheer multitude of possibilities was dizzying.
Suddenly, I was struck with a brilliant idea; a devious idea. It was something I had wanted to do since I was little, but had never done. It was a terrible, forbidden thing; nothing I would dare to...
the first chapter of a book i started writing that...
At sixteen years old, I was prone to having moments of deep spirituality not on Sunday mornings in a pew, but on Friday nights in a 1988 Volvo station wagon.
“Jesus,” I murmured. It was unclear even to me if I was praying or sinning by saying that word. All I knew was that I was stationary on a rural road and it was going to take a divine miracle to make the ancient engine turn over. I was...
