Letter From The Editor - Issue 55 - February 2017

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Issue 3
Stories
Dream Engine
by Tim Pratt
The Adjoa Gambit
by Rick Novy
Xoco's Fire
by Oliver Dale
Small Magics
by Alethea Kontis
Fat Town
by Jose Mojica
From the Ender Saga
Cheater
by Orson Scott Card
Audio Bonus
Cheater
Read by Orson Scott Card
Tales for the Young and Unafraid
Hats Off
by David Lubar
Running Out of Air
by David Lubar
Senior Paper
Special Software Bonus
I-Wei's Amazing Clocks
by I-Wei Huang

Writing Fantasy

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-   -   -   -   P   r   e   v   i   e   w   -   -   -   -

Running Out of Air
    by David Lubar
Running Out of Air
Artwork by Lance Card

Deeva sucked air and dug for the strength to hold her place in the middle of the pack. One more lap and it was over. For today, at least. Stay in the middle and you won't get killed, she thought, risking a glance over her shoulder where the stragglers tailed out, one pair running slowly with awkward gaits, two more barely jogging, and one last girl desperately swinging her arms in a pathetic attempt to make her walk look like a run.

"Move it, you lazy bitches!" Ms. Pelham screamed, cutting across the track toward the laggers. "This is supposed to be exercise." She grabbed the whistle that hung from her neck and blew an ear-piercing blast.

"They should fire her," Kate Wilson muttered as she ran just ahead of Deeva.

They've tried, Deeva thought. She'd heard stories. They'd all heard stories. Each fall, the first thing every girl at Smithfield High did was check her schedule to see which gym teacher she'd been assigned. Deeva was zero for two, drawing Ms. Pelham last year, and again this year. Across the field, near the bleachers, Ms. Bright was teaching her class an Irish dance step.

It was almost comic. Or cosmic. Bright and Pelham. Heaven and hell. Good and evil. Ms. Bright smiled. She encouraged all the girls. She baked cookies. Ms. Pelham snarled. She screamed at every student, except for the few star athletes who could do no wrong. But she saved a special level of venom for the slackers -- the fat, the weak, the uncoordinated, the sickly. If you couldn't run laps, Ms. Pelham would eat you up. Three times a week.

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