justin-case

That awkward period before the bell rings, when the teacher doesn’t give you enough work to last right up to the second it goes off, kills me. I hate it. I loathe it. I stand there with my bag draped over one shoulder (you’re gonna get scoliosis!) trying not to meet anyone’s eye. And he’s there. Always there. He just stands there, not saying anything, and that kills me even more. SAY SOMETHING! I scream, but not out loud because then people would look at me. That’s not acceptable. I tend to like being invisible. I feel like a total idiot, like I should say something. Hey, what’s the homework again? Page 237, pro

“Hold on to the boom,” he said, and I did, my knuckles turning white as I tightened my fingers tighter and tighter around the rope, which, as the wind gushed with full force into the sail, was pulling my top half farther and farther off the edge of the boat, so I called out to Dave, but he insisted, “Don’t let go, no matter what,” and I didn’t, but I felt myself being stretched to the limit, and he just kept on tying those ropes, not even noticing that I was on the brink of falling overboard, and if he had, I bet he wouldn’t have even cared, but I wasn’t going to let him down, so I held on tighter, wrap

Microphone cables, power chords, XLR… stretching and bending and crawling up my legs… like snakes…constricting around my stomach. and pulling tighter… tighter… especially when I see you smile. Fly line after fly line… first electric, second electric, third electric, fourth… “Clear the line!” “Watch your head!” “Coming down!” “Going up!” “Line locked!” Across each electric hang lights… each with gels… so many colors… amber, blue, red, R21, R64… but wait, they left R26 out of the order… “Bring the shutter in a bit!” he calls. “Now out… up a bit… why won’t this focus... are you sure it’

Dear You, I've never met the person I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with. I talked to him, told everything that was ever important to me, but we never met. It's sort of like we were on these two roads, parallel, but so far away from each other, and we'd been screaming to talk, and then one day, we just got tired of it all and stopped screaming. I'm having trouble telling you all of this because it's you, and I just don't know how to tell you how much it hurts that we don't talk anymore. Like, maybe I was wrong the whole time, and you weren't my best friend, and those two roads, they weren't parallel; they were at a slight angle

Sanders' eyes bugged out of his head just a little too far, and there was this little bit of spit hanging on his lips, and he sort of reminded me of a crazy dancing flamingo, hopping from foot to foot like that. "You've got to be kidding me." The phone rested between his ear and shoulder, held still by the sheer force of his bent head. His hands waved frantically in the air. "No way." I sat perfectly still on the curb, my legs stretched out into the street, and folded my hands together in my lap, trying not to wonder too much about what the other end of the conversation was. I was a little uncomfortable. It was the beginning of summer, and

I'm guessing magic is a lot like the curly hair/straight hair phenomenon. Just look around the room. All the girls who had puffy, frizzy curls in elementary school have unnaturally straight hair now, and as for all the girls who have perfectly gelled curls—yeah, they used to have straight hair. And sitting in Latin class, I'm pretty positive Aeneas would have loved to skip all that crazy fight the Harpies, flee the man-eating Cyclops crap and just have settled down as a plain old accountant or something. But here I am, remembering all those crazy fairy tales and messed-up Disney movies with the dragon-fighting princes. The prince always win