What my mother doesnt know wont hurt her

The golden moment when I’m not yet awake enough to remember that there are things I would rather forget.

I wish he hadn't gone and cut his hair. He looks about eight years old. His ears have tripled in size. Everyone's started calling him Dumbo. Which wouldn't be so bad, except they've started calling me Mrs. Dumbo. You can't even tell he's got curly hair anymore. There's nothing left to run my fingers through. Just this weird blond AstroTurf sprouting out of his skull.

There’s something so great about this,” she whispers. About what?” I whisper back. About this,” she whispers. About being outlaws. It’s just you and me—against the world.

You're thinking I'm a hopelessly romantic idiot. And you know what? You're right.

What my mother doesnt know wont hurt her

But Lunch Isn't That Bad, Really Once I get used to having to eat with two people instead of one. Two people who have known each other for such a long time that they practically speak in code. Two people who are always saying, "Remember the time when this happened?" and "Remember the time when that happened?" (Which, of course, I never do, because I wasn't there.) Well, okay, it is that bad. It sucks, even.