By Mary O'Connell
Sandinista Jones is a highschool senior with a punk rock identify and a damaged center. The loss of life of her unmarried mom has left Sandinista by myself on the planet, topic to the random vulnerability of lifestyle. while the varsity method we could her down, her grief and instability accentuate, and he or she ponders a violent act of revenge. nonetheless, in the course of her challenge, she will get a role on the light Circus, a cool classic garments store, and reveals friendship and camaraderie together with her coworker, a boy being affected by his personal secrets and techniques. whilst Sandinista sees the disasters of these with strength and authority, she's provided the opportunity to outlive throughout the redemptive strength of friendship. Now she needs to choose from religion and forgiveness or violence and vengeance.
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Additional resources for The Sharp Time
Bennett’s ugly words come back to me, unbidden, verbatim. My mind floats back to yesterday morning, to all the slamming phrases I should have said back to Mrs. Bennett, those clever comebacks that would have made the class laugh and perhaps cheer for me—everybody loves the ADD underdog. I cough, I cough and cough, and my lungs hurt. My lungs are jammed full of tiny metal hammers and miniature barbecue grills that hiss and sputter and I wonder why I didn’t simply walk out of class when Mrs. Bennett started up with her crazy-bitch routine.
What are you, sixteen, seventeen? ” He chews tobacco. ” “I don’t have a dad,” I say. He gives a sidelong glance as if I am a child of a random hooker in a latex miniskirt, a glance that makes me want to smash the glass and grab a gun. “You’ll need to go to school,” he says, looking troubled. He must be some kind of mystic, someone who, in this dank shop with its smell of basement water, can divine the lives of his customers. I look down at the case of handguns. A wandering crack in the glass is sealed off with a strip of yellow wax.
My rib hurts and Mrs. Bennett’s ugly words come back to me, unbidden, verbatim. My mind floats back to yesterday morning, to all the slamming phrases I should have said back to Mrs. Bennett, those clever comebacks that would have made the class laugh and perhaps cheer for me—everybody loves the ADD underdog. I cough, I cough and cough, and my lungs hurt. My lungs are jammed full of tiny metal hammers and miniature barbecue grills that hiss and sputter and I wonder why I didn’t simply walk out of class when Mrs.