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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Acknowledgments To a great mentor and friend, the real Jim Blasingame, who asked for nothing more than a part in the movie. For Chuck Cahoy, always there with exaggerated praise: thanks for being my life. Patrick Moore was there at the beginning and helped me form the plot. Larry Glidewell offered extremely kind critiques when I needed them. Sarah Shumway, my awesome editor, and Caryn Wiseman, my terrific agent, shared and improved my vision. My nephew Sam, the bravest guy I’ve ever known, reminded me that Bobby Framingham does exist. His wonderful mother, Karen, strongly suggested I stop killing off parents in my stories. Thanks to my terrific family. My mother, Shelley, the most effusive and unconditional supporter I’ll ever have, shared this process with me. My father, Bob, whose sense of humor I (sadly) acquired, offered irreverent ditties for Bobby Framingham—The Musical. Thanks to everyone at the creative writing program at Arizona State University, especially Ron Carlson, who tried to mold me into the writer I hope someday to be.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html The next day I felt really weird at school, dirty almost. And I couldn’t stop the thoughts. Sitting in math class daydreaming, I yelled “NO!” really loud.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html “Ha!” Rocky laughed. He’d gotten pretty good at dealing with the put-downs. He wanted so badly to be liked that we actually liked him. He put up with the insults because he had to.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html she squinted reminded me of warm blueberry pie, and a wicked sense of humor that was almost unfair in a girl so pretty. We’d been hanging out all through high school, and never had a credible date.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html I felt a euthanasia skit coming on. Austin hated when Carrie and I performed our scenes. He always walked away when we started in on one at a party. I’d be on my deathbed with Carrie at my side, holding my hand. “Unplug me!” I’d hiss, hardly able to speak. And Carrie would respond, “What, honey? No, you’re not ugly.” And we’d keep going until someone in the room was in hysterics.