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“We sometimes get dibs on parts and stuff,”
The band has stopped playing in the middle of a tune. The keyboardist—a girl—wails at the sight of Connor on the red stone path.
Connor looks up at her, halts for a second, and blows her a kiss before continuing on. Lev can hear her crying.
She reaches over and adjusts the angle of Connor’s bed until he’s sitting up more comfortably. “Now tell me,” she asks, “What was your name again?”
unmistakable tattoo of a tiger shark.
there are laws against unwinding the disabled—but
“I promise,” he says. “I promise I will never touch you with this hand.”
Risa knows this is a crucial moment for both of them. That arm—the same one that held her back against a bathroom wall. How could she look at it now with anything but disgust? Those fingers that threatened unspeakable things. How can they make her feel anything but revulsion? But
shark has been tamed by the soul of a boy.
It makes him feel, if only for a moment, like a normal thirteen-year-old.
“just my convictions. I still very much believe in God—just not a god who condones human tithing.”
“I never knew that was a choice.”
“You think maybe I can believe in that God, too?”
this is a beautiful allegory to pro life via religion. it is possible to still have faith but also be pro choice
There are hundreds of guests at Harlan’s party. One of them is a boy by the name of Zachary, though his friends know him as Emby.
“Officially, my name is E. Robert Mullard.…” He smiles. “But everyone calls me Connor.”
“I remember!” he says. The Admiral smiles. Perhaps the memories are spread out, but they’re here—every one of them.
They let us stay here because they don’t see us as a threat.”
“We have a right to our lives!”
“We have a right to choose what happens to our bodies!”
“We deserve a world where both those things are possible—and it’s our job to...
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Every eye in the garden turns toward him. A man raises his hand to his throat, touching it gently, and says in a voice that is most definitely Harlan Dunfee’s, just a bit older, “Dad?”
