Fancy Goodnight by Frederick K Foote

At the dinner table, Fancy Goodnight, my seventeen-year-old granddaughter, drops a bombshell, spills the beans, or lays an egg depending on your perspective.

“Hey, you guys, guess what?”

Lavender Green Goodnight, Fancy’s twelve-year-old sister, responds. “You’re pregnant with twins, and you don’t know who the father is. It—”

Topaz Goodnight their fifteen-year-old sister interrupts, “It could be any of twelve homeless, drug-addicted, ex-cons that—”

Mavis Goodnight, the girl’s forty-year-old mother attempts to put the conversation back on track, “Enough, don’t joke about that. Fancy, what do you want to tell us?”

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Elephant by Allen Kopp

typewriter

Beverly was having a bad summer. If I didn’t dislike her so much, I would feel sorry for her. Her face erupted into a berry patch of pimples as soon as she turned sixteen. Then she failed her driving test, not once but three times. This is especially humiliating for her because all her friends have their drivers’ licenses. When you’re sixteen, nothing is more important than getting “the license.” She’ll probably kill herself if she isn’t able to pass the test before she starts the eleventh grade.

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