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It happened during a green and sticky almost summer two months before the end of sixth grade. It seemed like my past didn’t exist anymore. I sat inside my house

Fear rose in her throat and hollowed out her stomach—lost with no idea how to get home. Liana kept watching the plumed purple bird that flew quickly through the trees.

My best friend’s dog hung himself, but it wasn’t exactly my fault. The dog’s name was Albert. His ears were his best feature—floppy in an adorable sort of way with

People say you get smaller as you age, and cite any number of relatives to prove their point. For example, how a 6’4” basketball player on Uncle Henry’s side of

In a place called Oakside no different than any poor village, there once lived a girl named Liana. Her hair was brilliantly black and shone like a raven’s wing. Her

Dangling from fingers the blue sail of my mask twirls tacking me to the Golden Gate wind kicking up nowdisplays the ocean’s white petticoatsseals in wet suitsfrying donuts in waterI drink hot coffee