Lona Sixteen Always is about to become Lona Seventeen Always, but she isn't feeling much older or wiser. Unlike Fenn and the rest of the Path Strays, she is struggling to move on with her life. How can she look to the future when she knows almost nothing about her past? Lona feels like everyone's pressuring her to become 'normal' - even her beloved Fenn - and on top of this, she's been having strange, violent dreams. It almost feels like someone's trying to send her a message... In the bid to find out who she really is, Lona will fall headlong into a trap far more dangerous and cunning than she could ever have imagined. The Path was just the beginning ...
|Publisher:||Little, Brown Books for Young Readers|
|Sold by:||Hachette Digital, Inc.|
|File size:||3 MB|
|Age Range:||12 - 18 Years|
About the Author
Monica Hesse grew up in the cornfield American town of Normal, Illinois, spending most of her childhood pretending to be Laura Ingalls Wilder or Anne Frank. She is a feature writer for The Washington Post, where she has covered everything from political campaigns and the Oscars to the cultural meaning of Doritos. She lives in Washington, DC with her husband and a big black dog named Sheba.
Follow Monica on Twitter: @MonicaHesse
Read an Excerpt
A birthday tradition. Lona closed her eyes. She should make a wish, for the full, traditional birthday experience. But her deepest wishes had already come true. She was alive. Fenn was alive. Fenn was here, at this moment, his hand still skimming against her arm. She and Fenn and Gamb and Ilyf were the first living graduates of the Julian Path. They were so much luckier than they could have been. What more was there to wish for?
I wish I could know my real name.
The thought appeared in her mind unbidden, an unexpected guest at the door. That's what she wished for. Her name. Not Lona, which was the arbitrary conglomeration of letters assigned by the Julian Path when she was an infant. But her real name. The one her mother intended for her in the hours before she relinquished custody of her newborn daughter to a government program. The one that signified someone had cared about her. That name.
Lona watched as one of the candles listed slowly to the right, a snowbank of white frosting piling up against its side.
I wish I could know my real mother, too.
There. That's the wish she wanted more than anything. The wish that was too extravagant to say out loud. It could only be conceived of in secret, on birthdays.
Before she could take it back, she drew in a breath and blew. Seventeen candles went out, leaving pufts of smoke and the smell of wax and sulfur. The eighteenth flickered, but eventually it died too and the kitchen was bathed in gray.