I have never lived through a wilder time than the summer when the guys of Mount Rushmore—George, Abe, Tommy, and Teddy—decided to form a boy band. I worked in the visitor center, and as far as any of us knew, the boys had never heard pop music. Yet one night Abe started belting out
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Scamander was a dorm for science majors, and I fit right in. It smelled like boys who got good enough grades that their mothers didn’t mind cleaning up after them in high school. Odors of mildew and sweat added a sickening aftertaste to every bite of Top Ramen I shoveled into my face hole.
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I first consider a 1600s castle but prefer something more thrilling.
I leave the grand castle painting and wander through the antique store, one of the few places where I can truly be myself—free and unwatched.
What would it be like if I did this with a friend? I wonder. But no one
“I got nothing.”
My grin was snarky because I meant that both ways: what you say when you have absolutely nothing to add to a conversation. And literally. Because I had no re-memory.
My Eternal Counselor, Mirah, looked distressed. “Please, Ms. Iandolo…”
“Ronni,” I corrected. “Since we’ll be here a while, might as well be
Beings. The aimless complaint came unbidden to Egwae’s idling mind.
She withdrew her hand from a withering vine of translucent flame and closed her eyes. A deep breath filled her with alpine air. Earthly. Abrasive. Traces of her father’s realm emanated from the wall of vibrant, unruly foliage that loomed over her kneeling form,
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