The View from the Top by Hillary Frank Page A

laugh,” he said.
    â€œI won’t.”
    He knew she wouldn’t. But still, it was so hard to say aloud.
    â€œC’mon already,” she prodded.
    â€œAll right, all right. If I could be anything I wanted, I’d be an ... engineer,” he admitted.
    â€œWow, that’s not at all what I expected,” Anabelle said.
    â€œThat’s why I didn’t want to tell you. It sounds so nerdy, right?”
    â€œNo, it’s actually really cool. It’s the kind of thing I could never do. I don’t have the head for it.”
    â€œWhen I was a kid I used to take apart my mom’s vacuum cleaner. She’d yell at me, but I’d always put it back together just like I found it. I did the same thing with our phone, our radio, our clocks. I feel like if I worked really hard, I could build things from scratch. Things nobody else has ever made.”
    â€œLike what?”
    He’d never told anyone the thing he really wanted to make. The thing he’d dreamed of making since he was ten. But Anabelle would listen; she’d take him seriously. “Wings,” he said, standing up in his stirrups, holding his horse’s reins. “I want to build myself wings. Mechanical wings, to wear on my back. So, y’know, I could take off whenever I wanted.” He looked toward the beach and pictured himself soaring out of the park, over the sand, the rippling water.
    â€œI like that,” she said.
    â€œYeah? You don’t think it’s cheesy?”
    â€œNo, I think you should do it. Apply somewhere to transfer next year. If you write a good enough essay, maybe your grades won’t matter so much.”
    Jonah sat back down in his saddle. He didn’t want to tell her that even if he had straight As, he didn’t think he could ever stray far from Normal. Not with his mom being the way she was. He had to get off this woulda, shoulda, coulda topic; it was too depressing. “So,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, “what’re we gonna do about Matt? Want me to set him straight?” He struck a boxing pose.
    â€œNo,” she said emphatically. “You can’t tell him we talked about this.”
    â€œYeah. You wouldn’t want anything to do with me anyway,” he assured her. “I’m wicked bad news.”

{ HOW to EAT a CHOCOLATE BOOB }
    lexi fletcher

    T he chocolate boob was much bigger than it had appeared to Lexi when she’d spotted it in the candy case at Normal’s Naughty Nibbles. Probably a D cup. Maybe even double D. In any case, it was so gigantic that Anabelle couldn’t seem to get her mouth around it. But Lexi had a sinking feeling there was more than the size of the thing that was keeping Anabelle from eating it.
    Anabelle put the boob back down on the kitchen island, its bottom smacking against the wooden countertop. “I just can’t stop thinking about what it is,” she said.
    â€œIt’s your favorite food,” Lexi shot back.
    â€œWhat it looks like.”
    â€œC’mon, you prude, you know you want it.”
    Anabelle rolled her eyes. Lexi took Anabelle’s eye rolls as an extreme compliment. She only gave them to people she knew well—and they were specially reserved for things that really got under her skin. Calling her a prude, a kiss-up, anything that made her sound like a good girl, always worked.
    Anabelle sighed and gingerly lifted the boob again. “It’s heavy,” she said.
    â€œIt’s solid chocolate.” Lexi sang the words, trying to make it sound more appealing.
    â€œMilk chocolate.” Anabelle giggled. Good. Giggling was a good sign.
    â€œDon’t suck too hard or you’ll drain it all out!” Lexi joked.
    Anabelle doubled over laughing, being careful not to drop the boob. It was one of her incredible deep hyperventilating laughs that she only did when she honestly thought something was funny. This was the goofy Anabelle