If I were a seagullI wouldn't have to stick aroundIf people argued- I would fly off,swerve, wheel, dip, scream.a thousand wings of company if I have friendstwo strong wings of my ownIf I don't

She was a mind floating in an ocean of confusion.

She had a sense of herself being brain dead: running on tubes and machines.

She had never had a daydream that dreamed itself, like nightmares. That crawled out of her brain like a creature of the dark. A daymare.

I actually thought you would be kind," said the vampire."Go away!" screamed Devnee.He did not answer."I didn't have to be kind," Devnee told him. "Victoria was kind for me."He laughed."No one can be kind for you, my dear," said the vampire. "But I don't mind, of course. I have you now. There's no escape, my dear. You and I, Devnee Fountain, are a team.

But sometimes, in tight corners, when your back is against the wall and the world is against you, you have to fight back in unexpected ways.

They ended up at the Old Corner Bookstore, which Brian had read about in a tour guide to Boston. "Longfellow and Hawthorne and Oliver Wendell Holmes used to read here. Let's go in." Brian nudged the girls until they obeyed.It was a regular bookstore, less history-minded than Brian had expected. In fact, the local history shelves were quite mangeable. I'll buy one book, he thought. This will get me launched in actual reading. Out of the zillions of choices, I'll find one here.Brian picked out Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. It was thick and somehow exciting, with its chapter headings and scholarly notes and bibliography.

It was darker in the tower than any place Devnee had ever been. The dark had textures, some velvet, some satin. The dark shifted positions.The dark continued to breathe. The breath of the tower lifted her clothing like the flaps of a tent, and sounded in her ears like falling snow.It's the wind coming through the double shutters, Devnee told herself.But how could the wind come through? There were glass windows between the inside and outside shutters.Or were there?The windows weren't just holes in the wall, were they?What if there was no glass? What if things crawled through those open louvers, crept into the room, blew in with the cold that fingered her hair? What creatures of the night could slither through those slats?She had not realized how wonderful glass was, how it protected you and kept you inside.She knew something was out there.

Seventh grade had a full complement of creeps, weirdos, future criminals, and nerds.

Listen to the sea...it sounds like a coffin being dragged over broken glass.

The sea can smack the rocks like a hand smacking a cheek. It can hiss or gurgle or even kiss. But when it wants, it can go quiet. 'And then', said Anya Rothrock, 'you can hear the voices of the drowned'.