Anyway, it’s Winter Being Badass, as requested.
The room felt wrong. His sisters, Winter thought, might have said that it was creepy or oogy or sick, although sometimes sick was a good thing.
(Having three younger sisters go through teenage-hood a couple years apart had been approximately a decade of confusion and headaches for Winter. He wondered how actual fathers did it. )
What it felt like to him was cold, and not in his namesake way, and broken.
“I think,” his contact – no, friend. Normal people, his sister Summer kept telling him, had friends. And someone he played chess with every week and sometimes saw a movie with was, if not a potential SO or lover – and this one was not – a friend. His friend in the FBI cleared his throat. “I think that what’s going on in these situations is that someone has cut their Stands. That’s the correct word, yes? I read Ernesta Roundtree – she’s your mother, correct? – I read her paper on the Strands last year. They told me I needed beach reading,” he added with a wry smile. Continue reading