VERNON HOWARD FAITH PULLED HER LOCKER OPEN, STRUGGLING TO balance the pile of books in one hand. She almost made it, too. Almost. But the books teetered one way, then another, and finally cascaded to the floor with a crash that drew curious looks from the kids rushing by in the hallway. “Great. Just great.” Faith knelt to gather her things together, biting her lip against the frustrated tears that wanted to take over. “The perfect crummy end to a perfectly crummy day.” She paused in midreach. “Oh man …” Her breath came out on a heavy sigh. Her old friend was back. Sarcasm. She hadn’t let it out to play in months. That was one of the first things Sarah urged her to give up. “You know what sarcasm is, don’t you?” she’d said one afternoon as they were hiking. Faith plucked several pine needles from a tree as she passed it, crushing them between her fingers and setting the pungent fragrance free. “Sure, it’s being funny.” “No, it’s not. Sarcasm isn’t funny at all.
