Tara L. Davis
“I think a part of me wanted to face my past . . .” Katherine Barlett traveled across the Central High School stage and delivered lines with the emotional range of a squash. The senior prattled and switched between bug-eyed overacting and stiff-jawed blandness.
It was fitting, Francine thought, since Mr. Rangenferd’s self-penned, plot-sinkhole of a play Mine Own Selves didn’t deserve better. Too bad. He was a decent human being who tried hard to appreciate his weary life. Then again, he was retiring. Perhaps his plan was genius after all.
It was obvious Katherine hadn’t seen or experienced … things. Neither the cultured kind nor the ones that left you blistered and abraded. The class at large liked her well enough, and she had no festering grudges, prominent emotional scar
