Academic Assassins Read Free

near and dear to his heart, someone he hasn’t seen since he chickened out and turned tail when he should have taken her
by the hand and walked back into the real world alongside her.
    I think everybody at home knows who we’re talking about.
    Folks, give a hand to…
    â€¦Sully Tulliver!
    (The crowd goes wild, like a bunch of rabid badgers.)
    Hailing from Greenfield, Miss Tulliver spent her formative years palling around with Peashooter and his Tribe before striking out on her own. But our viewing audience knows that Miss Tulliver
and Spencer have had a rather—how should we say this—well, an on-again, off-again “friendship” that has left the rest of us feeling pretty dizzy.
    (A collective chuckle rumbles through the crowd.)
    This should make for a spirited game today, folks! Time to let those sparks fly as we play…
    Get! It! Off! Your! Chest!
    â€œHey.”
    Hey
, she said—or, to be more exact, I imagined she said.
    â€œSo…? Should I start?”
    It’s your head, not mine
.
    â€œOkay. So. I’ve been talking a lot to myself lately. Just got to keep my voice alive—like a fire. Don’t let your voice snuff out, I keep telling myself.”
    Is there something you want to—?
    Get! It! Off! Your! Chest!
    (Thunderous applause from the studio audience.)
    â€œI know this is a little awkward,” I said. “Last time we saw each other, I kinda hightailed out on you without telling you what’s up.”
    Definitely not your best move, Spence
.…
    â€œI just wanted to—”
    Get! It! Off! Your! Chest!
    (More applause.)
    â€œI wanted to explain why I left.”
    Fine
. She shrugged.
Be my guest
.
    â€œHas it been hard out here? Sure. I wouldn’t recommend a retreat like this for everybody…But it really does wonders for your character. After the first month, you kinda get
the hang of it.”
    Look
, Sully said.
This whole “I went to the woods because I wished to be all badass” is not doing you any favors. You’re not proving anything by hiding out here.
Plus, winter’s coming. You’re going to popsicle yourself to death because you’re running out of matches and you still don’t even know how to start a fire.
    â€œSo—what? You’re saying I should give up and come home? To the life I had before? A life of watching TV? A life of wasting countless hours trolling online? That’s not my
life. That’s not a life at all.”
    Stop hiding
, she said.
Find yourself by facing yourself, not running away.
    A pretty profound thought for someone who’s not even there. Even when she’s imaginary, Sully always knows just what to say.
    I’m starting to see my breath now. My sleeping bag has a hole in it. The leaves are falling. The branches are beginning to look like bones.
    I see skeletons all around me.
    Find me, I wish Sully had said. I miss you, Spencer.

JOURNAL ENTRY #43
    Hunger is a clown making a balloon animal with your intestines. Hunger is a brushfire set in your belly. Hunger is a boa constrictor coiled within your torso. Hunger is your
mother hanging your insides on the clothesline to dry. Hunger is a violin with its strings made from your guts, whining a three-hour symphony. Hunger is rust corroding away the lining of your
stomach. Hunger is heartache. Hunger is…
    Hunger is…
    I’m down to my last Ding Dong. The Twinkies didn’t last long.
    What day is it again?
    Nobody ever told me fishing would be this hard. Robinson Crusoe made it sound like a cinch on his “Island of Despair,” but at least he had his man Friday helping him.
    I’ve been eating moss just to keep my stomach from rioting against the rest of my insides.
    Stay away from the red berries
, I have to keep reminding myself. Even though I know they’re poisonous, I’ve had to force myself to steer clear.
    Hunger is…hunger.
    When you don’t feed it, it