What did I do to make Mommy leave?โ โYou didnโt do anything. This isnโt your fault.โ โThen why?โ sheโd wailed. โI donโt know,โ her daddy had said, and he looked so sad. โIt isnโt fair!โ โNo, it isnโt, baby. Not by a mile. The worldโs only as fair as you can make it. Takes a lot of fight. A lot of fight. But if you stay in here, in your own little cave, thatโs one less fighter on the side of fair.
Libba BrayWill was making a speech, something about having been young and careless once, the sort of thing old-timers said when they issued a deathblow, as if they thought their sanctimonious ramblings disguised as empathy would be welcomed, but Evie was only half listening.
Libba BrayWe're in English class, which for most of us is an excruciating exercise in staying awake through the great classics of literature. These works - groundbreaking, incendiary, timeless - have been pureed by the curriculum monsters into a digestible pabulum of themes and factoids we can spew back on a test. Scoring well on tests is the sort of happy thing that gets the school district the greenbacks they crave. Understanding and appreciating the material are secondary.
Libba BrayDid they find something wanting in you, Gemma, at the party? You didnโt speak too freely or behaveโฆstrangely?โ I grew claws and bayed at the moon. I confessed that I eat the hearts of small children. I told them I like the French.
Libba BrayThere's no time to be modest. Reason will not work here. Without warning, I kiss Kartik. His lips, pressed firmly against mine, are a surprise. They are warm, light as breath, firm as the give of a peach against my mouth. A scent like scorched cinnamon hangs in the air, but I'm not falling into any vision. It's his smell in me. A smell that makes my stomach drop through my feet. A smell that pushes all thought out of my head and replaces it with an overpowering hunger for more.
Libba Bray