Rebekah Conard

That's what we all say, right? Someday, we're all going to write a book. (I was going to say "novel," but then I remembered some people have the attention span to write an entire book of nonfiction.) I want to write a novel. I want to prove to myself I can do that, and I need the practice stretching my ideas over a longer word count. So far, I haven't figured out how to get there.

Sheryl shifted in the hard plastic chair. The pleasantries were over and the business of report cards and progress reports concluded without any great surprise. A glance to her watch told her there were two minutes left until she had to vacate the chair for the next parent. Okay, Mom, she thought to herself. Time for the hard part. She took in a long breath, then asked the question. "Is Amica getting along with the other kids?" Mrs.

"The ocean!" Chloe whined. She rolled her eyes so hard it rolled her whole head. "I hate the ocean." "Well, good thing the beach house is on the beach, dipshit," mocked Riley. "If you don't want to go in the water, you can just stay out of it." Chloe playfully punched him in the shoulder. "You like tanning, don't you?" Amanda offered. She wasn't too keen on the ocean herself, but she was willing to give a beach vacation a chance. Chloe scoffed.