Night X | Ann Zhang

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Night Six, my mother invites me to help with dinner. From the fridge she pulls tofu and scallops and shrimp without tails. I search the cabinets for almond milk, ask what about

Bite | by Anne Strand

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She bites and chews and gnaws. She is so focused on the tiny words in her textbook. Then she clamps down on the pen cap so hard that it snaps in half.

Thirteen | by Sam Wachman

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You imagine grabbing his hands and free-falling with him, his heart beating in synch with yours as you plummet. You imagine being together, and being helpless.

Faces | by Anna Chotlos

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When I was little, my grandma once frightened me when I knocked on the bathroom door and she responded, “Just a minute, I’m putting on my face.”

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