Droplets, droplets: We are all identical drips and drops of people, hovering, waiting to be tipped, waiting for someone to show us the way, to pour us down a path. ... He has tipped us over, all of us in our teetering expectancy, and now we are pouring toward him, coursing on a wave of sound, of roaring shouts and applause. ... They are the moon; we are a tide, their tide, and under their direction we will wipe clean all the sickness and blight from the world.
Lauren OliverAnd we did, and it wasnโt bad. We ate the whole stupid can, we were so hungry. And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.โ Iโm gasping, feeling as though I am about to drown; Iโm reaching for him blindly, grabbing at his collar.
Lauren OliverCould it be? Samantha Kingston? Home? On a Friday?โ I roll my eyes. โI donโt know. Did you do a lot of acid in the sixties? Could be a flashback.โ โI was two years old in 1960. I came too late for the party.โ He leans down and pecks me on the head. I pull away out of habit. โAnd Iโm not even going to ask how you know about acid flashbacks.โ โWhatโs an acid flashback?โ Izzy crows. โNothing,โ my dad and I say at the same time, and he smiles at me.
Lauren Oliver