I Point At A Window To My

Beatrice," She Says. "beatrice, We Have To Run." She Pulls My Arm Across Her Shoulders And Hauls Me To My Feet. She Is Dressed Like My Mother And She Looks Like My Mother, But She Is Holding A Gun, And The Determined Look In Her Eyes Is Unfamiliar To Me.

Sometimes All I Want Is To Be A Few Inches Taller So The World Does Not Look Like A Dense Collection Of Torsos.

But Now I’m Wondering If I Need It Anymore, If We Ever Really Need These Words, “dauntless,” “erudite,” “divergent,” “allegiant,” Or If We Can Just Be Friends Or Lovers Or Siblings, Defined Instead By The Choices We Make And The Love And Loyalty That Binds Us.

Don't Pretend", I Say Breathily. "you Know I'm Not. I'm Not Ugly, But I Am Certainly Not Pretty." "fine. You're Not Pretty. So?" He Kisses My Cheek. "i Like How You Look. You're Deadly Smart. You're Brave.

So You're Her Brother? Says Linn. I Guess We Know Who Got The Good Genes.