He let his mouth linger on mine, neither possessively nor sweetly... like his mouth just belonged there on mine. And he was right. It did. It always had.

A WRINKLE IN TIME is one of my favorite books of all time. I've read it so often, I know it by heart. Meg Murry was my hero growing up. I wanted glasses and braces and my parents to stick me in an attic bedroom. And I so wanted to save Charles Wallace from IT.

I was the kind of kid who couldn't really stop making up stories during class. I didn't do very well academically because I was always drawing these little doodles in the margins of my notebooks and I wasn't bringing home the best grades.

I snatched the paper away from Dopey. "Hey," he yelled. "I was reading that!" "Let somebody who can pronounce all the big words have a try," I said.

But I had loved him. A part of me still did. Maybe more than a part of me, because I'm a complete moron.

It's just that the times I'm wrong don't register in your memory with as much clarity as the times I'm right.

I thought about telling him the truth: 'Oh, nothing. Just having my soul exorcised so I can roam around purgatory, looking for the ghost of the dead cowboy who used to live in my bedroom.