She propped her digital camera up on a stack of encyclopedias. The red recording light flickered to life.
"This is Tara," she whispered, holding her bruised hand up to the lens like a badge of honor. "And today, I learned that even when things slam shut, you're still the one holding the pen." She propped her digital camera up on a
As the ink flowed, the throbbing in her hand turned into a dull hum. By the time she reached the third page, the "Awesome Vid" she had planned to record for her imaginary fans wasn't about backyard stunts anymore. It was a manifesto. "And today, I learned that even when things
She pulled out a thick, spiral-bound notebook and a set of gel pens. Under the glow of a lava lamp, she began to write. She didn't write about the pain or the fight. She wrote about a girl with hands made of literal iron—a girl who could catch closing doors without a scratch and lift the corner of a house just to find a lost marble. She pulled out a thick, spiral-bound notebook and