Highfire

by Eoin Colfer

If I tell you fuckers to dance, then you goddamn well better synchronize the hell out of a routine,

his momma had two distressed faces: the one she used when he was in the room, which was mostly tight and restrained with sporadic implosive gasps of air, like she was afraid to relax her jaw muscles for too long in case she lost control, and the second distressed face Elodie let out when she thought no one was watching. This face was a heartbreaker

“I met Jesus,” mumbled Vern, his head coming up. “He weren’t even a good carpenter.”