Tell me what you want, what you really, really want," he said. "Braiiinnnnssss," we said in unison.

I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.

No one in history had ever done less and yet been so wrong.

The locker at the end of her bed had no lock, and one of the hinges was busted. She opened it up. There was a thing in it. The thing might have been a sandwich at some point, or an animal, or a human hand...but what it was now was fuzzy and putrid. A minute later, Ginny was down the stairs, out the door, and gone.

Walk really, really carefully. It's not complicated, but if you mess up, you'll die, so pay attention.

She couldn't take her eyes off the boxers. Mostly, she had a view of the back, but he turned halfway when he looked over. She commanded herself not to look at the front flap, which, of course, was exactly what she honed in on. He spit and put his mouth under the tap to get some water. All while just wearing underwear. All while she just stared at the crucial spot of the Action Pants.

Don't get stabbed. It makes everything awkward.