It had been silent for several seconds and I knew I had to say something. "So we're not Italian?" It was the only question I could think of. I could tell my mom wanted more but was relieved I wasn't ... [+]
Liz Ulin has had several short stories adapted and produced for theater, in addition to publication. Most recently, she was a winner of the Fresh Voices Screenplay Competition. She lives and works in Montreal West, Quebec. "Crossing the Line" is in Short Circuit #07, Short Édition's quarterly review.
They sat alone in the back of the sweltering Chevy, their plump pink thighs stuck to the seat. Suzie glared at her brother's hand crossing the sacred middle line, slithering forward like a snake. "Get off my side." "Make me," Daniel said. Suzie brushed a clump of sticky bangs off her forehead and narrowed her eyes. She could make him. She could slam her book down on his pathetic, serpent fingers and make him scream. She could snatch his palm and bite into the pudgy flesh. She could spit at him. She could—but that would be stupid."Never mind," she said, and squinted out the window at their moth