24 Hours in Nowhere by
Bo Taylor held my face one inch from the jumping cholla cactus. “Eat it, Gus,” he commanded. I shook my head as much as I could with Bo’s vise-like grip in my hair. "You think you can get away with what you just pulled?" Bo squeezed my hair tighter. I grimaced. "I was just hoping I could." Bo let out a shrill laugh and put more pressure on the back of my head. "That's hilarious." For those not familiar with things out here in the hideously hot, dry desert of southern Arizona, a jumping cholla is a cactus so nasty, it has a reputation for attacking unsuspecting people by leaping onto them - more rabid animal than plant. It locks itself into place with spines that curve like hooked vampire teeth as they sink into its victim's skin. (p. 1)
I tiptoed out of my room and stood at my grandma’s door. She was snoring in her wet, hacking, gasping, choking way. I crept into the kitchen and made a couple of bologna sandwiches, filled a large pickle jar with water, and took our only tiny flashlight out of the junk drawer, then headed back to my room. I should have bought extra batteries for the flashlight, but it was used so so seldom, I hoped it would make it through the night. Plus, batteries were expensive. Plus, I completely hadn't thought about it. (p. 50)
I shined the flashlight into the water all around us – more bones. And then…’No way', Matthew whispered. Once more Rossi reached down. ‘Don’t touch it!’ Jessi cried. Rossi ignored him and lifted the skull out of the water. She raised it to the level of her face, like she was saying hello. Then she turned it around so it faced Matthew. ‘Say hello to your great-grandfather'. (p. 188)
I leaned my head on top of Rossi’s and gazed out at the town of Nowhere, the poorest town in Arizona and the least livable town in the entire United States. An actual tumbleweed blew across the crumbling road in front of us. A piece of Rossi’s hair swirled in the wind and tickled my face as she snored softly beside me. (p. 260)
