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The Summer House, Upstate New York August 1999 You know you’re in trouble. You’re almost fourteen, and you’ve been a brat all through dinner at Paolo’s Pizza Palace and the cut-it-out-now-you’re-embarrassing-me glares from your mom just made you roll your eyes. You sulked at your pizza and breathed loudly during dessert, and you know it isn’t just this meal, it’s been building all summer and finally someone is gonna let you have it. When you get home from dinner nobody talks to you, and so you plop down onto the couch right in the middle of everything and say, “I am so fucking bored.” You say fuck, even though both your little brothers are on the floor playing Legos and your grandparents are in from Boca. The F-word is the final straw, and without your realizing what’s happening your arm is being yanked toward the door. Please log in to access the full content. If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy. Login or register to post comments

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The Summer House, Upstate New York

August 1999

You know you’re in trouble. You’re almost fourteen, and you’ve been a brat all through dinner at Paolo’s Pizza Palace and the cut-it-out-now-you’re-embarrassing-me glares from your mom just made you roll your eyes. You sulked at your pizza and breathed loudly during dessert, and you know it isn’t just this meal, it’s been building all summer and finally someone is gonna let you have it.

When you get home from dinner nobody talks to you, and so you plop down onto the couch right in the middle of everything and say, “I am so fucking bored.” You say fuck, even though both your little brothers are on the floor playing Legos and your grandparents are in from Boca. The F-word is the final straw, and without your realizing what’s happening your arm is being yanked toward the door.

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If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.