Free All Alone in the Universe by Lynne Rae Perkins Page B

correctly, etc. She forgot to bring the life jackets. Finally, she forgot to bring food on a camping trip, and she starved, alone and forgotten (Irony. Also poetic justice) in the wilderness. I knew it wasn‧t a great story, I was tust trying to show that I got the point: Fatal flaw → Tragedy.
    It took me by surprise when Miss Epier leaned over my desk a few days later and asked me to come back to the classroom after school. “lust for a few minutes,” she said “I want to talk to you about your paper.”
    “Oh. Sure,” I said. But before I could read her expression or ask any questions, she was off on the other side of the room. The bell rang, the class swarmed up in a mob between us, and I decided I could wait to find out what she wanted. Probably I had been just too quick and sloppy. Then I had another idea: Maybe my story was good, really good. Maybe she wanted to send it off somewhere.
    When I got there. Miss Epler was at her desk, reading I chose a nearby desk and waited. Miss Epler looked up and smiled her V-shaped, peach-colored smile. “Hey, Debbie,” she said.

     
    This seemed like a good start.
    I smiled too. and said, “Hi.”
    “So, how are things going for you?” she asked casually.
    I shrugged. “AU right” I said.
    “Yeah?” she asked.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Really all right?” she asked. She leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtfully into my eyes, toward my soul. I looked back. I tried to be thoughtful, too, but my mind wandered to how lavender eye shadow, or any color really, doesn‧t look as good at the end of the day when a person‧s eyes start to get red and watery. Probably this is even caused by bits of powder flaking off and falling in.
    I snapped back into focus and said, “I‧m okay. I‧m fine.”
    “Your story,” said Miss Epler, “seemed a little angry. A little morbid.”
    “It did?” I said.
    She nodded. “Perhaps because every single character dies,” she said. “In awful ways.”
    “Wasn‧t that the idea, though?” I asked. “Tragedy?”
    “Tragedy, yes. Apocalypse, no. You might want to leave one teeny-tiny shred of hope and redemption, just for contrast.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Okay.”
    Miss Epler seemed to be waiting for more. I thought I knew what, so I said, “Do you want me to write it over?”
    But she shook her head. “No. I know you could. I‧m not worried about that. What worries me is that someone who writes such a story might actually be feeling, well… somewhat unhappy.”
    That was one I hadn‧t thought of. I leaned forward on my elbows. There was an owl‧s face in the fake wood grain on the desktop. Almost all fake wood grain has an owl‧s face in it somewhere. I traced it with a ringer.

     
    ‘It‧s just a story,’ I Said. “It doesn‧t mean anything.”
    “Stories don‧t mean anything?” asked Miss Epler after a pause.
    More carefully then, I said, “Not all of them.”
    She clasped her hands to her chest raised her eyes, and said, “I think I can feel my heart breaking!”
    She was joking, and I relaxed a little and smiled. I thought we were moving out of the serious part But Miss Epler turned thoughtful again and asked, “By the way, how did that friend thing work out? The one with the what was she? A centipede or a slug or something? Something horrible. How is that going?”
    I looked down at the plastic wood grain again. I reached for my pencil to draw in the rest of the owl, then decided I‧d better not I wasn‧t thinking about the friend thing. I was keeping it in a separate compartment with the door shut There was a lot a person could do by herself. Like read. At least in books there were people who were faithful even unto death, people who didn‧t Just forget about each other for no reason that you could think of.
    “It‧s okay,” I said.
    There was a hesitant knock on the door frame. Alice Dahlpke was standing there.
    “Oh, hi, Alice!” said Miss Epler. “Come on in and join us.”
    Alice