The young adult novel that was not my childhood

Arctic Boulevard was a barren expanse. There wasn’t much within walking distance. There was a 7-11, a party supply store that sold balloons and stickers, a used bookstore with stacks of dog-eared stephan kings. The last apartment I lived in with my mom, the one on Arctic Boulevard, was by far the most depressing. We … Continue reading The young adult novel that was not my childhood