Jennifer--s — Body -2009-

“Not that kind of hungry, Needy.”

I didn’t run.

Megan was at her locker when she heard the news. She smiled. Jennifer--s Body -2009-

“Thanks,” she whispered, sinking into the chlorinated pink. “It hurt. Being that hungry.”

“Freak accident,” she said, tilting her head. Her hair, which used to be mousy and fine, now fell in a black curtain that seemed to drink the fluorescent light. “Poor guys.” “Not that kind of hungry, Needy

The night the fire department pulled two rabbit hunters out of a ravine, no one in Devil’s Kettle talked about the smell on their breath. The hunters said they’d been chasing a buck, lost their footing, and blacked out. But the nurses noted the way their chests caved in—like something had sat on them and gotten bored.

I walked to Megan’s house after school. She was in her room, painting her nails black. A red Gatorade bottle sat on her nightstand. I knew, without wanting to know, that it wasn’t Gatorade. Her hair, which used to be mousy and

“I’m hungry,” she whispered. Her eyes weren't human. They were the color of root beer bottles held up to the sun.