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What We Saw At Night

Cover of What We Saw At Night

What We Saw At Night

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Like the yearning, doomed young clones in Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, three teenagers with XP (a life-threatening allergy to sunlight) are a species unto themselves. As seen through the eyes of...More
Like the yearning, doomed young clones in Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, three teenagers with XP (a life-threatening allergy to sunlight) are a species unto themselves. As seen through the eyes of...More
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    1
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  • Lexile:
    700
  • Interest Level:
  • Reading Level:
    3

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Description-
  • Like the yearning, doomed young clones in Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, three teenagers with XP (a life-threatening allergy to sunlight) are a species unto themselves. As seen through the eyes of 16-year-old Allie Kim, they roam the silent streets, looking for adventure, while others sleep. When Allie's best friend introduces the trio to Parkour, the stunt-sport of running and climbing off forest cliffs and tall buildings (risky in daylight and potentially deadly by darkness), they feel truly alive, equal to the "daytimers."

    On a random summer night, while scaling a building like any other, the three happen to peer into an empty apartment and glimpse an older man with what looks like a dead girl. A game of cat-and-mouse ensues that escalates through the underground world of hospital confinement, off-the-grid sports, and forbidden love. Allie, who can never see the light of day, discovers she's the lone key to stopping a human monster.

Excerpts-
  • Chapter 1: Dark Stars

    Don't move and don't scream too loud, no matter what you see," Juliet told Rob and me. "Promise? On pain of death?"
    "I promise," I said readily.
    Rob shot me a furious glance. I forced myself to shrug with a chilly deadpan.
    What else was I supposed to do?
    Juliet was a force of nature. I could ask her why we might scream. I might as well chew on air. She wouldn't tell us. She was my best friend--in fact, aside from Rob, my only real friend--and the sum total of what I truly knew about her would have filled a teaspoon. She'd probably spent two hundred days at my house, and I'd spent another hundred at hers. None of that mattered. Still, I was always guessing at how headstrong she was and how unattainably different . . . and we were about to see that proved all over again.
    Rob shivered in the Washington Wizards team jacket his father had given him. It was meant to be comforting, to include Rob in the real world. Rob was a natural athlete, especially when it came to basketball, but couldn't play because of what he had, what we were. He could never be exposed even to the lights in a gym during a real game. The jacket was one of thirty or so. His dad stockpiled them, being a sporting-goods buyer. They were actually a kind of mockery. But Rob's dad was such a sweetie that he would never have realized that. So Rob dutifully rotated among the Bucks, the Bulls, the Pacers, the Pistons, and yes . . . even the Wizards.
    I was wearing my leather coat and two layers of scarves. It was April 8, but Iron Harbor didn't know it was technically spring. At two in the morning, in the brick passageway between the Smile Doctors dentistry and Gitchee Gumee Pizza, we could see our breath every time we spoke. The temperature couldn't have been much above freezing.
    "I'm going to die," I said. "And be cryogenized. Standing
    here."
    "Such a weenie," Juliet said.
    She didn't seem to feel the cold. Ever. In a black bodysuit that made Rob stare and a black turtleneck sweater that gathered at her knees, Juliet braided up her waist-length dark blond hair and looped it into an elastic band. Along the left
    side of her face, from her cheekbone to her lip, she'd stenciled in iridescent face paint a line of blue stars that glowed in the faint light from the street corner.
    Face paint! For a Tuesday night among the Nothings of Nowheresville, Minnesota. For the excellent true adventures of three people who had absolutely no lives.
    "I've been called a lot of things," I said. "But never--"
    "A weenie? Consider yourself called," Juliet interrupted with a wicked laugh. "In fact, I have called you a weenie myself."
    She had, in fact: the previous summer, when I balked at breaking into Valerie Meyercheck's house again. After all, it was the third time. Valerie spent about ten days a year in Iron Harbor and the rest of the time whirling among her houses in Switzerland, Paris and Lake Forest. I'd finally followed Juliet inside, but I did not try on any clothes. Juliet took two sweaters, two of countless heather cashmere cardigans.
    Juliet insisted (and I believed her): no one who had a hundred color-coded sweaters could be sure if the moths had eaten some, or if the dear old family servant Valerie probably called "Mammy" had given them away to the poor.
    Maybe I was a weenie.
    Of course, none of us could trump what Henry LeBecque had called Juliet last fall, though we should have seen it coming for years: "A wannabe vampire." As if she'd chosen to live the way we did. First off, how could any guy with a pulse dump Juliet, no matter what her limitations? Henry said he...

About the Author-
  • Jacquelyn Mitchard is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Deep End of the Ocean, the very first Oprah Book Club pick, as well as more than twenty other critically acclaimed books for adults and teens. A nominee for several national and international awards, she served on the 2004 Fiction Jury for the National Book Award. In addition, she is a longtime journalist and regular contributor to Real Simple and Parade magazines.

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    Soho Press
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  • Copyright Protection (DRM) required by the Publisher may be applied to this title to limit or prohibit printing or copying. File sharing or redistribution is prohibited. Your rights to access this material expire at the end of the lending period. Please see Important Notice about Copyrighted Materials for terms applicable to this content.

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