The Toll (Arc of a Scythe, #3)

by Neal Shusterman

“I sensed a change in your physiology as you spoke to the salvage captain,” the Thunderhead said. “Why is that your business?” Greyson snapped. “It was just an observation,” the Thunderhead said calmly. “With all your years of studying human nature, don’t you know when you’re intruding into my privacy?” “I do know,” said the Thunderhead. “And I also know when you want that privacy intruded upon.” As always the Thunderhead was right, and it ticked Greyson off. He wanted to talk about it. To process it. But of course there was no one he could talk to but the Thunderhead. “I believe she had an effect on you,” it said. “She? Isn’t it presumptuous of you to call Jeri ‘she’?” “Not at all. The sky above the cave is clear and full of stars.” Then the Thunderhead explained to Greyson how Jeri saw gender, a thing as varied as the wind and ephemeral as clouds. “That’s… poetic,” said Greyson, “but impractical.” “Who are we to judge such things?” the Thunderhead said. “And besides, the human heart is rarely practical.” “Now that sounds judgmental….” “Quite the opposite,” said the Thunderhead. “I long for the luxury of being impractical. It would add… texture… to my existence.” It was only later, after Greyson had taken his earpiece out and he was lying in bed, that it occurred to him why his conversation with Jeri Soberanis felt so inviting and unsettling at the same time. Hello, Greyson, Jeri had said. Nothing strange about that. Except that it echoed something deeper. They were the s...