The pool is located deep underground, in a large cavernous chamber many feet beneath the streets of our town.
The day she turned eleven was the day Zadie Ma discovered her superpower.
They chose Valentine’s Day 2005 as the date to release the engagement news and Camilla’s new title of HRH The Duchess of Cornwall bestowed by the Queen.
Cindy Thomas was working at the dining table she’d bought at a tag sale down the block.
Samantha watched the girls as they filed into the event hall, tilting their heads back to stare at the ornate vaulted ceiling with its oversized chandeliers dripping silver and blue crystals.
The woman was crying. Tears ran like rivers down her face, dripping off her chin and soaking her tunic. She had to stay silent. No one could learn of her sorrow. Because no one would understand.
Malcolm ran. One hand curled against his chest, the wrist swollen and aching, the fingers numb and almost black in the sickly yellow streetlight.
When books are your life – or in my case, your job – you get pretty good at guessing where a story is going.
We find ourselves at a time in history when, in Western democracies, what was seen as the natural order is being challenged in a way it never has been before.
To avoid being seen by their teachers or anyone in the frum community who might dob Yonatan in, they ignored the tram stop outside the 7-Eleven on the corner of Hotham and Balaclava and opted for one further down the road.
The probability of you: It’s close to a miracle in every sense of the word that you are holding this book in your hands.
Nineteen seventy-six was the year we covered up the death of a twelve-year-old boy, hiding his body from his family and the world forever.