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We were always driving and once in the night in the dark after hours and hours, days even of only night driving, you said to me. We’ve gone a thousand miles. We could have gone to New York by now. We could have gone anywhere. You said it in the dark. It was Cedar...

Super fast and super premium. We wished that were true about the greyscale beat of our lives. Its expectations a stone in our gullets. When we died, one by one by glorious one, we were not prepared for these things, as we were only girls. Not before, and certainly not...

I’d have bet prison, fifteen to life for offing your ex while he slept next to the younger blonde who’d stolen your crown. Or maybe the roller derby, skating endless, sweaty circles alongside women nicknamed Glory Hole and Cuntalingus, girls who’d sharpened their...

After Edgar Degas’ “Dance Rehearsal, 1874” People say ballet theaters are haunted by the dancers who died tragically young, but that’s not true. Theaters are haunted by bored ghost girls. They’ve spooked everyone worth spooking. Wandered Paris, Rome, Tokyo. Lasted...

When we were fourteen, Tessa, Gina, and I used to laugh at Mrs. Meade, our history teacher, who always came to class like she had dressed in a rush, her hair always boringly tied, her wedding finger always covered in soap, stuck to her wedding band and we wondered how...

I wished it on my 16th birthday candles. The school counselor said to believe in myself, so I did. It turned out the junior class at Bellingham High had been waiting for a teenage vampire. First they stopped sitting with me at lunch. Jesse from homeroom said they...

She has a small scar behind her left earlobe and I wonder if she knows that I’m aware of it. I’ve always wondered how it became to be and I used to make up stories in my head. Stories involving nipping puppies, or a renegade fishing pole cast when she was 13. Then...

Her first love stands in the doorway, a lanky licorice stick of a boy, all words and high tops, sweet and chewy, palms touching the door frame. Insomnia carries him to her, a sleepless offering for bare feet pacing a hardwood floor. If she lingers too long in this...

Sara’s building tiny huts made of mud that she hollows out with her thumbs and then covers with sticks from the wood chip pile at the edge of the playground. She’s trying to create the village like the one she’s seen in pictures from the National Geographic that rests...