The moment of truth arrived and Max had felt raw panic, standing atop the bungee tower. He felt a jackhammer in his chest while his mind screamed on repeated thought, “What am I doing here?” Far below the parking lot car windows glinted in the sun and traffic steamed by on the highway. Max squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he’d never accepted that dare. “You’re only eighteen,” he told himself and “you’re going to die,” he said. Then suddenly he was weightless, falling headlong toward the earth.
Her name was Connie; she was fifteen and had a quick nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors. She would often check other people’s faces to make sure her own was alright and her mother noticed everything. She also knew everything and hadn’t much reason any longer to look at her own face. She often scolded Connie for looking in the mirror. She would say “Stop gawking at yourself,” “Who are you?” She would say and “You think you’re so pretty.” Connie would raise her eyebrows at these all too familiar compliments. She would look right through her mother, seeing a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment, she knew she was pretty. That was everything to her. Her mother had once been pretty too and the snapshots in the family album showed this. Her looks are gone now, so that’s why she was always after Connie.
Tonya was a stunningly beautiful woman and she knew it. Her face had classic proportions that included high cheekbones and almond-shaped