Kate Ryan

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.