The living room’s floor was layered with so many rugs that Phyre’s feet barely made a sound as she walked through and sank onto a padded chair in ...he corner. She let her voice wander around and take in everything there was to see. A table in front of her, a low one for sharing snacks with guests. Around it were several other seats and a comfy-looking sofa that had a deerskin draped across the back. Its antlers were hanging on the wall opposite her, accompanied by a shelf on either side that. Even though my first name is Alexander, somehow my middle name got latched onto and I've always been known as "Georgie."Now, readers of my first story, don't get your balls in an uproar thinking that in that epistle, said my dad's name was Steve. There is a funny story behind that. I don't like being called "Alexander" any more than I would like being called "Allie" followed by being tormented by being called, "Alley Cat."My father felt the same way and up until middle school, liked to be. More

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