I like it,” I said. “The material’s so heavy, though. I
may turn into a sweat monster.

Each second neared our last.
We danced.
“Kieren . . .”
“Shhh . . .”
We danced.
“I’ll be okay.” Was that me lying? Or him?
We danced.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, brushing his lips
against mine. “Know that I’m missing you already and
that you’ll always be in my prayers.”
When I opened my eyes, I stood alone in the middle of
the dance floor.

For me, it's been a treat to interact with authors who were publishing when I was a young reader. Judy Blume once gave me a pep talk at a writing conference. I had a short story featured in the same anthology as Beverly Cleary. Magic.

I find getting the first draft down to be the biggest challenge. Every word, every punctuation mark, every plot point is a decision. It's much more fun to play with something that already exists.

Children and teens take in stories to the deepest imaginable level. What we put on the page can change the people they'll become and the course of their lives.

That's when it happens. Maybe it was my argument. Maybe it was my scary zeal. Whatever the reason, as soon as Megan whistles, the crowd is on its feet.
They're blowing bubbles. They're raising their lighters high.
They're cheering through their fangs...
For Dawn Summers, for themselves and each other, for every sibling who got tossed into a situation beyond her control.
For me.
And for my sister, who whistles again...
Once more with feeling.