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“You’re the proverbial diamond in the rough,” she’d said to him once, touching his nose lightly with the tip of her electrifying finger. But it was she who was the diamond, sparkling out of that muddy, grassless, dirty-brick setting.
It seemed to him that he had been thought too big for that since the day he was born.
Terabithia was their secret, which was a good thing, for how could Jess have ever explained it to an outsider? Just walking down the hill toward the woods made something warm and liquid steal through his body. The closer he came to the dry creek bed and the crab apple tree rope the more he could feel the beating of his heart. He grabbed the end of the rope and swung out toward the other bank with a kind of wild exhilaration and landed gently on his feet, taller and stronger and wiser in that mysterious land.
In his head he drew the shadowy castle with the tortured prince pacing the parapets. How could you make a ghost come out of the fog? Crayons wouldn’t do, of course, but with paints you could put one thin color on top of another so that you would begin to see a pale figure moving from deep inside the paper.
It’s giving Feyre
even a prince may be a fool.”
Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was delicate as a dandelion. One little puff from any direction, and it was blown to bits.
“You gotta believe the Bible, Leslie.” “Why?” It was a genuine question. Leslie wasn’t being smarty. “’Cause if you don’t believe the Bible”—May Belle’s eyes were huge—“God’ll damn you to hell when you die.”
They smiled at each other trying to ignore May Belle’s anxious little voice. “But Leslie,” she insisted. “What if you die? What’s going to happen to you if you die?”
