But Park’s face was like art. And not weird, ugly art either. Park had the sort of face you painted because you didn’t want history to forget it.
How could you possibly have a dark secret involving the Star Wars prequels? Are you responsible for Jar Jar Binks?
Aeroplanes don’t stop being aeroplanes when they’re on the ground.
Is it that important? Wouldn’t it be more important to teach the least powerful? To help them make the most of what they do have? Should we teach only poets to read?
There was a knock at the door. Cath eyed it suspiciously. More knocking. “I know that’s you,” she said into the phone. Levi laughed.
There’s no such thing as a wrong pizza,” Georgie said. “All pizzas are right from conception.
It’s always fire with Baz. I can’t believe he hasn’t incinerated me yet. Or burned me at the stake.
And sometimes she just wants to rage against the machine-even if she’s not exactly sure where the machine is or how to properly rage at it.
That breaks my heart, to think that you can’t remember a world without the Humdrum. I worry that your generation will just acclimate to it. That you won’t see the necessity of fighting back.
But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started.
Trauma affects memory, my therapist said. Your brain closes off painful corridors. “That sounds good to me,” I told her. “Thank you, brain.
Sunshine gives me a headache.
I was born at the wrong time,” she said. “And in the wrong climate. It should be 1983, and I should be sitting outside Mann’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, California.
Baz arched an elegant brow. “Are you going to snog the Humdrum-is that your plan? Because he’s eleven. And he looks just like you. That’s both vain and deviant, Snow, even for you.
She bent over to pick up her glasses. “Do you need those?” Reagan asked. “Yes” – Cath put them on – “I need them to keep me from becoming the girl in She’s All That.
I want to touch you. Hold you. I want to sit right next to you, even when there are other options.
You’re still Simon Snow. You’re still the hero of this story – ” “This isn’t a story!” “Everything is a story.
I’m not the Chosen One,” he says. I meet his gaze and sneer. My arm is a steel band around his waist. “I choose you,” I say. “Simon Snow, I choose you.
Nicodemus laughs like nothing matters; Ebb laughs like everything does.
I’ll do anything to make sure it’s always here for me to come home to.