By Carol Lynch Williams
Thirteen-year-old Kyra has grown up in an remoted group with no wondering the truth that her father has 3 better halves and he or she has twenty brothers and sisters, with extra at the approach. that's, with out wondering them much---if you don’t count number her mystery visits to the cellular Library on Wheels to learn forbidden books, or her conferences with Joshua, the boy she hopes to decide on for herself rather than having a guy selected for her. but if the Prophet decrees that she needs to marry her sixty-year-old uncle---who already has six wives---Kyra needs to make a determined selection within the face of violence and her personal fears of wasting her kinfolk eternally.
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If I ever leave (should I even think this? no, I shouldn’t even think this) if I ever leave (maybe I could) I’ll find me a house with a piano and doctors to help my mother and no old man no uncle to be my husband. ” He stuck his hand at me. For a moment I didn’t even move. Men and women never shake hands in the Compound. “I’m Patrick,” he said. His hand still out there, like it was hanging in the air. Like it had a mind of its own. “Okay,” I said, reaching forward, just touching his fingers.
He let me move his fingers to the right position. So warm, those fingers. “The C and E and G,” I said. But Joshua’s hand didn’t stay where I put it. Instead, his fingers tangled up with mine. The whole side of his body leaned into me. His other arm slid around my waist. “You can’t play the piano holding my hand. Or leaning crooked like that, either,” I said, my voice breathy. The words almost didn’t come out of my mouth. But I thought, I could kiss you right now and go to hell and it would be worth it.
She sways a little and I try to support her with my body. “Why, Kyra,” Mother says, sounding all surprised. Her breath is awful. “You’re as tall as I am. ” If I could smile, I would. But I feel like I have been robbed of everything good. “Mother,” I say, “you aren’t that tall. ” Mother, bent over some, hand resting on her belly, nods. “Let’s get you back to bed. ” Again she nods. I tuck her into bed, pet her head, then start for the kitchen. I haven’t even gotten out of her room when Mother says, “Kyra Leigh.