The magic, mystic words of R.L. Stine capture her imagination as nothing else has. These stories are nothing like the books assigned by her teacher. She holds the book in one hand and washes dishes with the other. Eyes glued to the pages, she walks slowly back to the table and sits. She is almost done with "Camp Nightmare," and she wants to finish before dinner.
She hears Chris at the door, but ignores him. **He's probably just calling Luna.** Chris is asking to be let in, and Luna begins to bark. She consciously shuts the noise out. **He has his own keys.** Luna shows no signs of getting quieter. She narrows her eyes and glares angrily at the door. **I'll never get any peace if I don't.** She unlocks the door, preparing an appropriate comment that will convey her disgust at his inability to use simple tools, like keys, for example, but he beats her to the moment. "Too busy chowing to let me in, cow?" Suddenly the lingering trace of sugar sours in her mouth. **I won't let him make me cry, I won't I won't I won't.** In her bedroom she scrubs all traces of chocolate from her mouth.