Monday February 14, 2011. 5:51 PM. Verna stared at the screen until the next minute rolled, then set her Blackberry down on the table beside her. What was it that Dean Sheridan had said – five o’clock, five-thirty at the latest? Despite the date, she hadn’t expected their dinner to be anything more than professional – the Dean was a pleasant enough companion for a woman of Verna’s age even if he had ‘gone to seed’ as her...

Sunlight peeked through a hole in the canvas above her, and try as she might Alicia couldn’t turn away to avoid it. The strange woman behind her snored loudly, and she finally had to admit that she wasn’t getting back to sleep. The morning air whistled in through the seams in the tent, and she shivered under her blanket. Her second night here, and she was still shocked by how cold the badlands could be. She’d found hersel...

Sherrie took her seat, crossing her legs. This was new territory for her, and she wanted to ensure she was making the best impression. She’d gone for the ripped jeans over the fishnets, a loose-fitting IME T-shirt instead of the bodice that gave her the illusion of curves. She’d tied back her mane of strawberry blonde curls. The final look was… approachable, just another person on the street. And then she decided she had...

Bertie tugged for the third time at his necktie, then finally unwound it and started over. The motions of a Windsor knot still came clumsily to him, but it wouldn’t do for the new Assistant Manager to look sloppy. No matter how many attempts it took, he was going to look the part. It would just take some getting used to. “Bertie! Can I have one of these?” The refrigerator door blocked most of her from view, but a shock of...

“Miss Conti, please see me after class.” The message delivered, Mr. Desaulniers returned to the seat at his desk as the bell rang. As if a cord had been cut, twenty-seven twelfth graders leapt to their feet, reaching for their coats and their phones, already making plans for what little remained of the afternoon. The twenty-eighth student sat frozen in her seat. Behind her, Mona Abdullah whispered, “Ooh, Mika’s in trouble...

Marianne stood at the window, naked but for the sheet wrapped around her torso, and watched her husband and his friends shoot the breeze beside their pickup trucks in the driveway below. She took another draw on her cigarette. Usually the nicotine helped to calm her in moments like this, but she was still angry, still unsatisfied by her last little act of rebellion. “Shit, is he home already?” The flabby man in her bed sh...