“You're smiling," Indie says."I know." I say.”

“It could have been different," I say, almost under my breath. If I'd kissed Indie again after she kissed me. If I hadn't known Cassia before I met Indie."But it's not," Indie says, and she's right.”

“You're not coming with us," I say, realizing."If things were different, I would," Indie says, and when she looks at me, it's hard to hold her honest, longing gaze. "But they aren't. And I still have flying to do." And then, fast, like a fish or a bird, she disappears from the entrance to the hold. No one can catch Indie when it's time for her to move.”

“No.""Why?""No one needs to know," I say."To know what?How long you've lasted?" Vick asks."To know anything about me," I say.”

“Not many people know how to make letters like this," he says. "Do you ever teach anyone?""Only once," I say.”

“Did you know Grandfather would give the poems to me?” I ask.“We thought he might,” my mother says.“Why didn’t you stop him?”“We didn’t want to take away your choices,” my mother says.“But Grandfather never did tell me about the Rising,” I say.“I think he wanted you to find your own way,” my mother says. She smiles. “In that way, he was a true rebel. I think that’s why he chose that argument with your father as his favorite memory. Though he was upset when the fight happened, later he came to see that your father was strong in choosing his own path, and he admired him for it.”

“His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know.”