I didn't like being alone. Being alone was slightly better than having to deal with people, that's all. Or so I'd convinced myself.

I'm sorry," he said again, and this time he took those words and owned them.

They're not chicks. They're ducks.

You know, this technology that we have, and the Internet and Twitter and Facebook - I get so many of those emails that talk about hard times that kids have gone through, how books have helped them, but also happy times.

hi, puppy." she's not a puppy. She's a girl," Nancy's mother says. Nancy pats me and says, "Good puppy. Nice puppy." When he mother bends down to pull her away, she wraps both arms around my legs and wails. "No! My puppy!

I'm a southern girl, and I grew up with this slightly schizophrenic upbringing where I bounced back and forth between Atlanta, Georgia, and a tiny mountain town called Brevard, North Carolina. My parents were divorced, and my two lives were very different because of socioeconomic reasons.

My angel-boy is close now, as in five-feet-away close. There's no way I'm going to burst into song in front of him. But then the contrary part of me says, you're going to let a boy keep you from singing out loud? Sing, sister! Sing! So I do, and my angel-boy turns his head.