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“Cruz told me”

Malik said nothing

“I don’t knohat to call the thing I do,” Francis went on “I can go sort ofaround things Through things” She shrugged “It’s hard to explain Normal words don’t work”

Words don’t work so well in describing you, either

Malik turned to look at her She was just a kid Kind of tough-looking Dirty, secondhand clothes, but with some style, some panache

“Try,” he said

“Well, it’s like” She took her ti about it “Okay, it’s like if you’d never seen blue and I was trying to describe it Only this isn’t colors, it’s shapes Things that should be solid aren’t Things that should be square, like a wall, are kind offlat That’s kind of it It’s like I’ else is flat And I can see inside things It’s kind of gross, actually Iat once, their face, their eyes, but also their lungs and their guts and, well, everything”

Malik stared hard, his gaotten “You see inside people?”

“Inside, outside, all at once I know they’re people, I see their faces, but at the same time it’s like they’ve been turned inside out”

No, Malik, no exciteyet

Malik said, “Cruz Can I borrow your Moleskine?”

Cruz hoped someday to write She did at times, bits of this and that, which she noted in neat handwriting in her purple Moleskine

“Don’t readover the Moleskine open to a blank page

Malik drew a square He dreo eyes on the edge of the square “His name is Frank Flat Frank”

“Okay,” Francis said cautiously, like maybe Malik was nuts