Fruit by Donna George Storey
My mother used the special knife to cut melons. It was very sharp and I wasn't allowed to touch it.
But I was allowed to watch as she guided the long blade through the cantaloupe's golden-netted rind to the cutting board. With a gentle thump, the melon fell open, glistening orange...
Long Distance by Marcia Peck
"Come work on it here," my father wrote. "There will
be nothing to distract you."
And so I packed my cello, drove from New York up the
coast, crossed on the ferry to Digby, bought a pint of
fragrant roadside blueberries and followed the gravel road
as far as the hand-lettered sign, "Please drive in. My car
battery is dead." With an arrow pointing up the dirt track
to my father's cabin...
Jellybeans by Carmen Adair
Jason and I were on his bed, the bag of jellybeans between us. "Close your eyes," I said, pointing my finger at him like a mother. "We can't play until they're closed..."
Spider Sense by Mimi Martin
I wriggle my bum deeper into the sand and squint against the lake’s
sunbright water. The laughter of my children assures me they haven’t
strayed from the campsite; it also means they know. We’ve been gone four
days and not one fight! They’re probably thinking, as nine-year olds
must, that best behavior will set everything right — set it back to the
way it was...
Lousy Thursday by Louise Campbell
The third Thursday of each month looms like a black hole for Joelle. That is
the day the nurse comes to the school, with her pretend smile and her
nametag that says "Debbie M., R.N." Debbie M., R.N. meets with the two
diabetic kids, and she checks creepy Ashleigh's special feeding machine.
She talks to Eric, even though he is blind and deaf and drools all day. Then
she tells Joelle that she still has headlice...
Dark Season by Christina Ranon
The dream: wet bales of hay piled in the sleet-streaked barn. Leaves in their autumn plumage pricking the wet dirt, plums ripe as bruises, and her fine-veined eyelids rising like twilight...
Paper Cut by Kay Sexton
I fall away from you, making sure I don’t hunch my shoulders. Recently I’ve noticed that if I do, my breasts slap together. I keep my chin up to tighten the loose flesh lurking there. Being desirable is tiring work...
Dear Loretta by Rebecca Marshall-Courtois
Bob feels the train's screeching stop on his teeth. The doors slide open,
bringing with them that roasting hot dog smell of downtown Manhattan. Bob
spreads his laptop and trench coat over the two seats beside him. When he
spots her making her way onto the train, he drapes the trench over his knees
and opens his laptop...
