Each time he returned, he would bring me news of Amery's safety and some food. He seemed to know precisely what we most needed—cinnamon bark, preserved lemons, bulbs of dried garlic. I tried not to miss him. I tried not to think about Amery.
"Is there a link," someone asked, "between science fiction and young adult works?" "Science fiction's what they used to call the YA section before there was a YA section," Westerfeld said, and effortlessly articulated the feeling I'd had for years.
About the puppy we didn't choose
