I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. The modern parts of the book were inspired by my worldview of high school as pure, unadulterated Hell. Occasionally she would be missing a sock or a bra, so she took to storing those things in her gym locker. “You have a boyfriend! That’s fine by me, it’s your business, but you’d better stop sneaking around because Sheila’s got eyes in the back of her head!” He heard Sheila utter a loud percussive blast of a snore from the master bedroom. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations.
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