"I'm sorry," said the President of the National Leg Prosthetics Company. "But there's nothing I can do to help you."

"But you're the President," said David plaintively, looking up at the tall man from his wheelchair.

"Yes, but I've got a tee time in almost two hours," the man said dismissively. "I'm afraid you're on your own."

"Don't you understand?!" shouted David. "A life is at stake! One of your own employees!"

The President sighed. "Look, if it'll get you to leave ..." he sat down again.

"This is standard operating procedure for the NLPC," he explained. "We encourage all...

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"If you say so," I said, feigning indifference. It was best not to commit to something that would go south in microsecond, which I suspected would happen with Jacob's escape plan.

"Let's go over it one more time," he said excitedly. "At 2100 tomorrow, I'm going to shank Billy in the kitchen. The guards will come running to take me away to solitary, like they did the last thirteen times."

"You don't have anything to shank with," I said, annoyed at his overly dramatic air. "All we're allowed are sporks made of recycled corn, or whatever this shit is." I...

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"I hate you! Get out of my face!"

Wow. That's just the way any teenage girl wants to start her day: the most popular guy in school declares in front of the entire gym class that he hates her guts.

Well, that's just the story of my life these days. Everyone who's anyone hates me. As if to emphesize that point, a red ball crashes into my face, knocking off my glasses.

"Simmons! You're out!" the gym teacher's voice echoes though the gym.

So, I go settle on the bleachers with the rest of the people out of the most...

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