Social Themes
Sitting at my desk is torture. I wonder what circle of hell this is and what I did to deserve it. Mr. Lawson drones on and on. I have restless legs. My knee bounces up and down like crazy, like there's too much energy inside me and stray sparks are shooting off everywhere, twitching my muscles. I feel bored and restless and impatient. I want something to happen.
I don't recommend breaking and entering on your first date. But it's just fine for your third.
The forest about me is absolutely still.
I shoot.
I shoot at the ground before the bear's massive paws. A scuff of snow flies up. In the next moment I lean the rifle against a tree trunk and grab my bear spray from my coat pocket where I've kept it warm. I pull off the safety clip, and this time I walk toward the bear.
Not away. I'm through with walking away.
What happens between you and me stays here. It's nobody's business but ours."
"But isn't using steroids sort of like cheating?" I asked.
"It would be if you were the only one doing it. Half the kids on the line who are standing across from you, trying to block you, are on the juice. We're just trying to give you what you need to even up the score.
Staring out from the front page is a picture of Mom, and I swear she's looking me right in the eyes. The caption reads, "Attempted Murderer To Be Given Parole."
"This is our house and we make the rules, Dime. If we say you're home at nine, that's when you walk in the door! No excuses!" Dad shouted.
Their house, not mine. For a moment, my eyes burned, and I thought I was about to cry. Then I got it under control. I slid a smile over my mouth and looked him straight in the eye.
"Make me," I said softly.
