I know that I'll be writing for young adults for a long time. Mostly because I just love the readers and the teachers and librarians that I interact with.

I suppose a fire that burns that bright is not meant to last.

I point at a window to my left, and it explodes. Particles of glass rain over us. ‘You’ll have to do better than that,' I say.

There are men with guns up there. When they see me, they will kill me, if they can," I tell my father quietly. I search his eyes. "Should I let them?" He stares at me for a few seconds. "Go," he says, "and God help you.

I have done bad things. I can't take them back, and they are part of who I am. Most of the time, they seem like the only thing I am.

Then everyone can call you Six.” “Four and Six,” I say.

What did you do?” I mumble. He is just a few feet away from me now, but not close enough to hear me. As he passes me he stretches out his hand. He wraps it around my palm and squeezes. Squeezes, then lets go. His eyes are bloodshot; he is pale. “What did you do?” This time the question tears from my throat like a growl. I throw myself toward him, struggling against Peter’s grip, though his hands chafe. “What did you do?” I scream. “You die, I die too” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.