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They were wadded up at the bottom of his suitcase, almost wrinkled beyond recognition. He pulled them out, scrunching his nose. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had washed them, but now that he was completely out of clean pairs of socks, they would do. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

I wouldn’t call it a dust jacket. The book is literally sleeved in thick, inflexible sheets of plastic. I understand that it’s a first edition—that it’s incredibly rare—but this seems like overkill. One of the guards posted at the side of the book’s glass case glares at me as wander in for a closer look.

His face is twisted, and ugly, blotchy red. Normally he’s all pride, preening tirelessly in front of the mirror, simply standing and staring and admiring himself. If I had to choose a sin to represent him now, it would have to be wrath. It’s not healthy when the veins in a person’s neck and forehead stick out that far.

He hasn’t been home for weeks. Every time I look across the street, I see dirty, darkened windows and a pile of newspapers waiting to decompose on his front stoop.

He’s the kind of boy with malevolent green eyes and full, exhilarating lips that lull me into contented silence every time he uses them. He fools me with all the pretty words he whispers, convincing me to do things I know I will regret later.

Before the door closes and locks you out, you slip in undetected. I few years ago, I might’ve admired you for your skill. Now I just roll my eyes derisively.

It all flashed before her terrified face in an instant, a long, drawn-out montage of pain. She knew what was coming, but was powerless to stop it.

He is all grinning cockiness and sneering sarcasm. The prodigal son. He has been told from an early age that he is special, that he is so much more than the average child. Gifted and bright, a force to be reckoned with.

She was the antithesis of him. She was smart in her own way, and that led her to keep her head down. Away from the spotlight he so craved. She isn’t delusional enough to think of herself as more, and so justly set herself up for a life of as few disappointments as possible. He had words for what she was doing—snide, whispered things that were said when he didn’t care enough to check if she was within hearing range: “idiot, fool, incompetent, stupid, failure.”

She heard everything. But years had toughened her skin to the point where his words could not burrow into her, tear her apart from the inside out.

Funny, she thinks. He sounds just like her parents.

I knew why they were being such exclusive fools–they were male, newly recognized as being men, relishing in the fact that they were bound by the grand idea of brotherhood. It was equivalent to having a clubhouse with a “no girls allowed” sign proudly plastered on its exterior.

“High school,” she says drily, rolling up the sleeves of her gown in order to better twist the tassel on her flat-topped hat around until it threatens to fray, “is a barren desert of despair. Don’t believe anything they say about this night being an honor—they’re just as happy to see us go as we are to leave this place.”