{"product_id":"the-bodies-we-wearisbn-9780385754095","title":"The Bodies We Wear","description":"\u003cb\u003eA streetwise girl trains to take on a gang of drug dealers and avenge her best friend’s death in this thriller for fans of Scott Westerfeld and Robin Wasserman.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Heam: It’s the hottest drug around. Users are able to see Heaven—a place so beautiful, so indescribably serene, many people never want to come back. And some don’t, like Faye’s best friend, Christian. But when Faye was forced to take Heam, she didn’t see Heaven; she saw Hell. And now she spends her nights training to take revenge on the men who destroyed her future and murdered Christian. When a mysterious young man named Chael appears, Faye’s plans suddenly get a lot more complicated.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Love and Death. Will Faye overcome her desires, or will her quest for revenge consume her?Jeyn Roberts is the author of the acclaimed novels \u003ci\u003eDark Inside\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eRage Within.\u003c\/i\u003e Born in Saskatchewan, she graduated from the University of British Columbia with a degree in writing and psychology and received her MA from the prestigious creative writing graduate course at Bath Spa University. She lives in Vancouver, Canada.One\u003cbr\u003ePeople say when you take Heam, your body momentarily dies and you catch a glimpse of heaven.\u003cbr\u003eI was only eleven years old.\u003cbr\u003eI saw something else.\u003cbr\u003eI saw hell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI like it when it's dark. There's not much light here. The city is constantly surrounded by clouds and shadows, even in the afternoon. But at night, there are no dusty streams of sunlight to try to warm my face. This is the way I prefer it. The light shows my flaws. My skin becomes translucent; the dark circles under my eyes grow darker.\u003cbr\u003eNot all of my scars are visible.\u003cbr\u003eThese are easier to hide.\u003cbr\u003eThe soapbox preacher stands apart from the crowd. He must be well over six feet tall, which gives him an advantage, along with the packing crate beneath his shoes. Shoulders tower over heads, his long black jacket reaching past his knees, disappearing into the crowd. His collar is gray and crooked, but his hair is immaculately cut, short and close to the scalp.\u003cbr\u003e\"Heam is not the salvation of heaven, my children. It is not the proper path. Do not follow false gods.\"\u003cbr\u003eHe speaks with passion and saliva, his mouth spewing a steady spray of words and liquid, forcing the few onlookers in the front row to step back several feet. They must be followers of his flock; no one else has the patience to stay out in the rain. The majority of people, always in a hurry and hidden under their umbrellas, step past him, keeping a safe distance, as if his enthusiasm might be catching.\u003cbr\u003eIt never stops raining here. Always moist and humid. My hair lies flat against my scalp; raindrop diamonds drip from my bangs. I barely notice it anymore. The long jacket I wear keeps my skin from growing too damp. Sometimes I believe I can see mold growing on the bodies of people who stand too still.\u003cbr\u003eHe is right. Heam is not salvation. But neither is he.\u003cbr\u003eI don't know what it is about me that catches his eye, but as I step away from the stragglers, he jumps down off his makeshift podium and moves through the crowd as they part like the Red Sea.\u003cbr\u003e\"You,\" he says. \"Yes. Stop. Tell me, child, have you been saved?\"\u003cbr\u003eTwo people close in the gap, so I have no choice but to pause. Their eyes are gray, empty. One of them smiles, yellow teeth glowing dull under the streetlight. The faint smell of decay passes through his lips. They put their hands up to touch me, but hesitate. I'm wearing sunglasses and my jacket is pulled tight against my neck. They can't see my markings, but still they know something isn't quite right. Animals can sense when a human is sick--damaged. These people are no different, sheep being led to the slaughterhouse. Maybe they can smell me? Taste my aura? To them I might be the demon they've heard so much about.\u003cbr\u003eI turn around just as the tall man reaches me. He stops a few feet away, face feverish and shiny.\u003cbr\u003e\"Young girl,\" the preacher says. He's ecstatic. Girls are drama queens, he's thinking. They cry harder. Maybe he'll get the show he desperately wants. He's found the person he wants to exploit. He's more confident than his flock. They shy away, but he stands his ground. The sheep are smarter than the wolf tonight.\u003cbr\u003eI won't make it easy on him.\u003cbr\u003e\"Jesus loves you, my child,\" he begins. \"He died for all your sins, and all he asks in return is your love. Your obedience.\"\u003cbr\u003eThis is not a conversation I planned on having tonight. I shift from one foot to the other, shuffling my weight around, what little there is. Some days it feels like the entire planet's shoved against the small of my back.\u003cbr\u003e\"You have the wrong person,\" I say. It's my one and only warning. If he's smart, he'll listen.\u003cbr\u003e\"Even the most troubled child can be turned in the right direction,\" he says. \"All you need is for someone to tell you the truth. Do you know the truth?\"\u003cbr\u003eHe grabs my arm as I walk away, pulling me hard, determined to have his silly showdown.\u003cbr\u003eWrong move.\u003cbr\u003eI step forward, grabbing his fingers as they try to wrinkle my jacket. My grip is brutal and I see his eyelashes twitch as he tries not to flinch. I peel his hand away, pushing it back toward his own body. The whole episode takes only a few seconds; not even his followers notice or hear the sounds of his bones creaking as I squeeze harder. I lean in until I'm inches from his face. The decay on his breath is strong. With my free hand, I pull down the top of my shirt until part of my upper chest shows. His eyes come to rest on my scars, thin purple-and-red spiderweb patterns, covering the spot where the heart beats inside my chest.\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes widen and he steps backward, pulling hard, desperately trying to free himself from my grip. I let go at once. No one else sees what I revealed; they only watch as their pauper savior backs down from the fight.\u003cbr\u003eI lean toward him, whispering so only he can hear. \"I said you have the wrong person. As you can see, there is no saving me. My soul is gone.\"\u003cbr\u003eTurning, I walk away, leaving the congregation soaking in the rain as the sky opens up and tries to wash away their sins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don't have to walk the alleys but I do it every night on the way home. It's out of my way and I could easily take the train. Most people prefer not to walk these streets at night. You can't see it beneath the streets but it's there, the green-and-yellow subway, whisking people safely to their homes, keeping their eyes blind to the reality of this city.\u003cbr\u003eNot everyone seeks revenge in the most obvious places.\u003cbr\u003eI'd like to say that they recognize me in this neck of the woods. I'd like to brag and say my message has become adamantly clear and that they tremble in fear at my footsteps and run the second their eyes meet mine. If the police actually bothered to patrol this neighborhood, they'd bow to me in respect and buy me coffee. But that would be a lie. I am no more important to them than a discarded burger wrapper from the local fast-food restaurant.\u003cbr\u003eInvisible.\u003cbr\u003eJust the way I've planned it.\u003cbr\u003e\"Excuse me?\"\u003cbr\u003eOkay, maybe not fully invisible.\u003cbr\u003eI turn; a small girl with a red umbrella stares up at me. She's ten, maybe eleven. I narrow my eyes, waiting for her to speak. She's holding on to some papers, flyers, maybe. She could be bait, another religious group sending their tiny Congregational members to trick us sinners. But her eyes are wide and blue; she's suddenly unsure why she bothered to stop me. What on earth possesses her to be out this late? Looking past her, I see a woman that's probably her mother a ways down the block. She has flyers too and is talking to a man who doesn't seem to care what she's saying. He pulls out his phone and accepts a call, turning his back on her.\u003cbr\u003e\"Excuse me,\" the girl says again, regaining my attention.\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah?\"\u003cbr\u003eHer fingers are trembling. She takes a flyer from the top of her pile and thrusts it toward me. \"Have you seen my brother?\"\u003cbr\u003eIt catches me off guard and I reach out, taking the paper. A large missing is stamped across the front. A boy, possibly my age, quiet-looking, with glasses and short blond hair. He looks bookish, the type of kid who shouldn't be missing. Maybe he wandered away from the library one evening, never to return.\u003cbr\u003eBut someone loves him--this little girl with her cold shivering hands and tiny voice. She looks at me, eyes sparkling with hope that I might be the one who will feed her a small bit of information.\u003cbr\u003e\"No, sorry,\" I say.\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay, thanks,\" she says. \"Can you keep the flyer? Just in case? If you see him, please tell him to come home.\"\u003cbr\u003eI nod, fold up the paper, and stick it in my back pocket. The little girl turns and heads back down the street to meet her mother.\u003cbr\u003eSo many missing people in this city. If you took a picture of every single one and put it on a flyer, there would be enough to paper the galaxy.\u003cbr\u003eThere are bad people out here that make blond-haired, glasses-wearing boys go missing in the dead of night. No one bothers to stop them.\u003cbr\u003eAm I after revenge? The short answer would be yes. The real answer takes longer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI almost walk past without seeing them. A couple of Heam abusers, gutter rats, so to speak. The girl can't be older than twelve, small, pale, and thin; her body looks translucent against the brick building. The boy might be older; it's hard to tell, especially when he's barely able to hold his head high enough for me to see his face.\u003cbr\u003eIf I hadn't been looking, I would have missed them. Gutter rats learn to hide in the cracks so the dogs won't find them. These kids have crawled between the metal Dumpster and the wall. The smell of rotten food and mold is overpowering; I have to cover my nose with my hand to get closer. The walls are sticky with slime and dirt. It rained earlier and both kids look wet. Wilted.\u003cbr\u003eThe girl is not breathing.\u003cbr\u003e\"How long has she been like this?\" I ask.\u003cbr\u003eThe boy doesn't answer. He's wearing the dazed expression of someone who has just seen heaven.\u003cbr\u003eIs she still under? It's possible. There's not much you can do at that point except wait for the few minutes for the cycle to end. To try to resurrect someone while they're under is signing their death sentence. The shock is too much.\u003cbr\u003e\"Hey!\" I grab the boy and shake him hard enough to get his attention. Blurred eyes switch from the sky to the walls before finally seeing me.\u003cbr\u003e\"So pretty.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"When did you swallow? Did you drop at the same time?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Huh?\"\u003cbr\u003e\"The girl!\" I shake him again. He needs to hear me.\u003cbr\u003e\"You're hurting me.\" He sounds surprised.\u003cbr\u003e\"Focus! Tell me about the girl. Did you swallow at the same time?\"\u003cbr\u003eHe finally understands. \"Yeah, I think so. She might have gone first. So beautiful. Have you been? My grandmother's waiting for me. I saw her. She was dancing. The sky was so bright. Sun. It burned my eyes. So beautiful.\"\u003cbr\u003eI let go of the boy and he slumps against the wall. He won't be moving for a while. Even if his legs did work, I doubt he has anywhere to go.\u003cbr\u003eBut the girl still isn't breathing.\u003cbr\u003eI stretch her out on the ground. Her hair drifts in the rainwater; long tangled swirls fan out from beneath her head. Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and take a deep breath. Exhaling directly into her lungs, I watch her fragile chest rise slightly beneath her dirty clothing. I breathe into her a second time.\u003cbr\u003eNothing.\u003cbr\u003eMy hands find the front of her jacket and I yank it open, tearing at the buttons on her shirt at the same time. I can see the marks growing on her chest. Spiderweb veins, purple and red, spread out against her pale skin. Tiny cracks in a dam, starting at the center of her heart, creeping steadily across her chest and toward her shoulder.\u003cbr\u003eShe's going to die.\u003cbr\u003eNo, she is dead.\u003cbr\u003eI place my hands on her chest, palms down, and I begin the rhythmic compressions of CPR. One, two, one, two, one, two. Thirty times.\u003cbr\u003eBreathe twice. Her lungs rise and fall.\u003cbr\u003eUp and down.\u003cbr\u003eThe boy slumped against the wall starts humming softly to himself. An old song. Maybe his grandma used to sing it to him?\u003cbr\u003eI go back to the compressions, counting under my breath. I can feel something pop and snap beneath her skin. I watch her face grow whiter with each passing second. I can almost see right through to her skull. Even her eyelashes look pale as raindrops pool in the corners of her eyes.\u003cbr\u003eI change position and press my mouth against hers, ignoring the hint of strawberries on her lips. That taste. The smell. It makes my heart slam against my chest. It makes me crave, yearn, desire. Memories flash behind my eyes. Colors. Silver. Black. Cold fingers creep along my neck. Suddenly I'm seeing stars and the edges of my vision start to darken. I'm going to scream but there's no air in my lungs. Everything I had was transferred into her.\u003cbr\u003eI'll wait for you.\u003cbr\u003eWhere?\u003cbr\u003eHer eyelashes flutter.\u003cbr\u003eAnd open.\u003cbr\u003eI'm right down in her face and she panics, cracking her head against the ground as she tries to understand where she is. I pull away from her, putting my arms out to try to keep her from hurting herself.\u003cbr\u003e\"It's okay,\" I say. \"I'm not here to hurt you. You overdosed.\"\u003cbr\u003eI speak softly to her for several minutes before the words begin to sink in. She eventually allows me to help her up, until she's leaning against the side of the building beside the boy. He still hasn't noticed her. But that's normal. When you take Heam, everything else ceases to exist.\u003cbr\u003e\"What's your name?\" I ask her.\u003cbr\u003e\"Beth.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"That's a pretty name,\" I say. \"I'm Faye. Do you know what happened to you?\"\u003cbr\u003eShe shakes her head.\u003cbr\u003e\"You overdosed,\" I tell her. I pull back her shirt a bit to show her the scars. Tears instantly fall. \"But it's okay, you're going to be fine.\"\u003cbr\u003eI'm lying.\u003cbr\u003eI don't tell her that it'll never be the same again. People will treat her differently, like a monster they want to shove back in the closet. Those scars will never go away, a constant reminder of her evil deeds. She will lose family and friends. If by some fluke she manages to live beyond her childhood, she'll be fired from any job the second they see her markings. There will be no justice for her either. There are no rules to help Heam users. Only prejudice.\u003cbr\u003eShe'll never feel right inside her body. There will always be the nagging feeling that she doesn't belong. It'll be like she's living with someone else's body. She's no longer an owner. She's been reduced to tenant status.\u003cbr\u003eShe'll never stop craving.\u003cbr\u003eI find the small bottle lying half under the Dumpster and pick it up. There are a few tiny drops at the bottom; the silver-colored liquid clings to the glass. The boy is right. It is beautiful. Even now I can imagine myself tilting the drug to my lips and letting that power coat the inside of my throat. The veins in my chest pulse and grow itchy. It takes all my strength not to start scratching till I bleed.","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303096602853,"sku":"NP9780385754095","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780385754095.jpg?v=1730753051","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-bodies-we-wearisbn-9780385754095","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}