“I think you must be some kind of a freak. Either that or you’re trying toconvert me to your secret horse religion.”“Darn, you got me,” she says theatrically. “You thwarted my evil plan.”

“One minute you’re a happy fourteen-yearold—good at everything you try, popular, fun—the next you’re a freak with wings”

“I can't leave you," he says hoarsely."I can't leave you either," I say, shaking my head. "I can't.""Then don't," he says, and grabs me behind the neck and kisses me again, and the world is tilting, and everything goes black.”

“You’re not . . . normal, Clara. You try to pretend you are. But you’re not. You talked to a grizzly bear, and it obeyed you. Birds follow you like a Disney cartoon, or haven’t you noticed? And for a while after you came back from Idaho Falls, Wendy thought you were on the run from someone or something. You’re good at everything you try. You ride a horse like you were born in the saddle, you ski perfect parallel turns your first time on the hill, you apparently speak fluent French and Korean and who knows what else. Yesterday I noticed that your eyebrows kind of glitter in the sun. And there’s something about the way you move, something that’s beyond graceful, something that’s beyond human, even. It’s like you’re . . . something else.”

“I can’t believe you’re old enough to have your purpose,” Mom says with a sigh. “Makes me feel old.”“You are old.”

“How did you do that?” I shrug. “I click my heels three times and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’” “Uh-huh. So … you think this is your home? My barn? His tone is playful, but the look he’s giving me is dead serious. A question. “Haven’t you guessed by now?” I say, my heart hammering. “My home is you.”

“I didn't ever think you were a freak. I think...I thought you were magic or something. I thought that you were too perfect to be real.”