A word of advice, Will Henry. When a person of the female gender says she wants to show you something, run the other way. The odds are it is not something you wish to see.

We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.

I start to unbutton his shirt. "Got to get these clothes off," I mutter. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that." Smile. Lopsided. Sexy.

How oft do they rescue or ruin us, through whimsy or design or a combination of both, the adults to whom we entrust our care!

But hope is no less realistic than despair. It is still our choice whether to live in light or lie down in darkness.

I was woefully ignorant in the social graces. I was being raised, after all, by Pellinore Warthrop.

She looks at me out of the side of her uncovered eye. "Chess, Zombie: defending yourself from the move that hasn't happened yet. Does it matter that he doesn't light up through our eyepieces? That he missed us when he could have taken us own? If two possibilities are equally probable but mutually exclusive, which one matters the most? Which one do you bet your life on?