From Etiquette for Girls
By summer Iíve committed too many sins to count. My window half open to let in the sunlight, crickets, all the silver shining pails. The boys in the stars. Our feet so frail and pallid beneath the blue coverlets. Storms will bring debris, grasshoppers, blessings. A string to hang your Mary Janeís upon. When thirsty it is acceptable to look for water in cold, dry places, the icy interiors of drowned swimmers. Alone in the cool darkness of your room, listen to the fan blades whip the swollen air. Count. 1, 2. 3. Swish.
By August, the heat will swelter whatís left of your sanity. Donít be afraid to learn the bus system, but keep your mind open and close all the shutters. The moon will float like an eye above your bed. There are certain equations a girl must always remember. One plus one always equals zero. On the dresser lined with the pink lace scarf, keep perfume bottles and beach glass. A litany of every boy so painfully beautiful you wanted to cry, but couldnít. The sad strings of your heart wailing and laced with pain. If you own anything red, pack it away, quickly. Wordlessly.
Know what scents suit you, and in turn which ones are unsuitable. Soft vanilla, amber, the bitter rinds of oranges beneath your fingers. Your outfits should reflect the cold that is coming soon. The chilling smoke that curls from dank alleys. Remember you never want to go to such a place, no matter how curious you are. No matter what tangled voices you might hear whispering in the wind. Rebecca, Emily. Tina. Every girl that disappeared into the sweet, sticky mouth of the dark.