Maggie Stiefvater

Blue Lily, Lily Blue

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    She merely held his gaze.
    “Gansey,” Adam said.
    She closed her eyes.
    Of course. Of course he would be taken from them.
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    Ah, Adam thought with grim and sudden certainty. Here it is. So one of us is on it.
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    My head knew that,” Gansey said. “But the rest of me didn’t.”
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    . He looked genuinely ill. She had worried both of them, badly.
    “— half a dozen people looking everywhere for you and had begun to assume you were just dead in a ditch somewhere,”
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    is fingers lightly touched his temple and his cheekbone, and his eyes looked off at nothing.
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    At one point, though, she glanced over in the failing light and caught him placing an entire plant into the hole and knocking dirt over all of it, blossoms included.
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    There was precisely no more or no less than what she’d felt and heard before: a rustle in the leaves, a movement in her feet. As if the grass itself was shifting. It was hard to tell precisely where it was coming from.
    She thought she heard, faint and thin …
    tua tir e elintes tir e elintes
    … but maybe it was just the wind, high and impending between slivers of branches.
    She tried to hear it again, to no avail.
    They were going to lose light soon, and Blue wasn’t thrilled about the idea of driving slowly back in the dark. At least they were finally doing the truly pleasant part — the planting of the flowers, making it look done. Noah had enough strength to help with this, and he knelt beside her in a friendly way, pawing holes in the dirt for the root balls.
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    Noah sat against the doorjamb of the kitchen-bathroom-
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    . I cannot believe how obsessed Ronan and Noah are with that song. Ronan was talking about getting the T-shirt. Can you imagine him in it?”
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    Adam felt Ronan glance at him and away. Their shoulders were close.
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    Ronan said, “Matthew’s mine. He’s one of mine.”
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    It was none of those things. It was a word. It was a cupped word in Ronan’s hand that wanted to be said out loud, but he didn’t want to, but actually he did —
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    he imagined Ronan here on his own, so hopeful for a change that he would have noted such a subtle difference. It was far more dedication than he had thought Ronan Lynch capable of.
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    come here to do it?”
    Voice toneless, Ronan said, “Sometimes I dream of wasps.”
    Adam imagined it then: Ronan waking in Monmouth Manufacturing, a dream object clutched in his hands, wasps crawling in his bedsheets, Gansey unaware in the other room.
    No, he could not dream wildly in Monmouth.
    Lonesome.
    “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get hurt out here by yourself?” Adam asked.
    Ronan scoffed. Him, fear for his own life. But there was something in his eyes, still. He studied his hands and admitted, “I’ve dreamt him a box of EpiPens. I dream cures for stings all the time. I carry one. I put them in the Pig. I have them all over Monmouth.”
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    “I’ve dreamt him a box of EpiPens. I dream cures for stings all
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    See, Adam Parrish is wantable, worthy of a crush, not just by anyone, someone like Ronan, who could want Gansey or anyone else and chose Adam for his hungry eyes.
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    Ronan took Adam to the Barns.
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    “No,” said Ronan. “Parrish and I are going for a drive.”
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    “Democracy’s a farce,” Ronan said, and Adam smirked, a private, small thing that was inherently exclusionary. An expression, in fact, that he could’ve very well learned from Ronan.
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    He didn’t look at all Aglionby just then, with his shaved head and black biker jacket and expensive jeans.
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