”“What? Of course we’re going. I’m not going to back out on you, don’t worry. Forget about the party.”Shannon leaned in closer. “I think...Colin thought we were together.”I raised an amused eyebrow at her. “We are going to the dance together, so it only figures.”Shannon giggled as she patted my chest. We were interrupted by my parents, who had found their way onto the stage and intruded through the curtain gap. Greetings and hugs went around. I awkwardly accepted their compliments and the. ’ She leaned over and kissed me. ‘We are back to fire, are we?’ Writers, and maybe librarians too, lead a singular existence. You have to be comfortable in your own skin, as the saying goes. You have to have enough inner drive to survive the rough spots. I thought of the prospectors out here a hundred years ago. Wanting to be alone, wanting to find a bonanza of their own. A mostly demented quest. ‘You are quiet.’ ‘Do you mind?’ ‘No. It’s peaceful. You are comfortable to be around, even if. More

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