In high school, my awesomely strange group of friends and I used to hang out in bedrooms and basements and read Daniel Pinkwater stories out loud to each other.  Pinkwater’s collection Young Adults includes the novella “Young Adult Novel,” which is about outcast weirdos like we were. I wish I could still quote from it because I could remember lines for years. It killed me. It’s out of print. Someday I’ll dig out my copy and write more about it. I want to say that it’s a subtly subversive deconstruction of the boredom of high school, but that doesn’t seem to do it justice.