“SecretsBy Megan MoriartySome secrets areNice,Like shiny,wet pearlsYou string on a Necklace.One,two,three!Some secrets feel likeRocksThat hang from yourHeart.Some secrets are like Needles.They poke and poke and poke,Wanting to be told.Those are the most dangerous Of all.”

“Let's do it then." I reached forward and poked his bare chest with two fingers like we were actors in a gangster movie. "You and me,on the slopes, head-to-head,the slalom and the half-pipe.I will kick." Poke. "Your." Poke. "Ass.”

“She poked him in the center of his chest with two fingers to punctuate her words. “You are an unfeeling”—poke —“traitorous”—poke—“mistrusting”—poke—“rude”—poke —“booby!” Every poke turned him mortal, but Lord Maccon didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Instead he grabbed the hand that poked him and brought it to his lips. “You put it very well, my love.”

“Secrets and lies, they eat your insides until all you have left is a hard thin skin that covers you like the shell of one of those eggs you poke a little hole in and draw out its eggy contents before you dye it for Easter.”

“Who would want to be poked by some dumb girl with a stick?”

“The bathroom door opened and Griff emerged in a cloud of steam, the grand entrance of every B-movie alien I’d ever seen. Maybe this wasn’t Griff at all but some interstellar prankster setting me up. Forget about abductions, anal probes and secret alien cookbooks—the real fun was in poking at the Earthlings’ old heartaches.”