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523 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 12, 2020







A sense of the sky-this big, clear, blue fathomless Texas sky-bearing down on her, weighting her, in a way the low clouds and smog of home never had. She felt heavy, cumbersome, in a way that had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
“You’re sweet,” she said. “It’s awful.”
He chuckled. “I can’t disagree.”
He was at the threshold when Reese found his voice. “I have a name.” Ten froze. Turned back around. “I have a name,” he repeated. “And you only have a number. Don’t pretend you’re more human than me.”
She could be afraid of the club; be afraid of what siding with it meant to her father’s memory. She could dislike their code; she could wish things were different… so many things. But she wasn’t afraid of Albie, personally. She never had been.
“It’s from a poem,” he explained. “It’s called ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.’ I don’t really know what it’s about, but I liked that bit about the cannons. About being shot at, you know, and facing Death? It reminded me of–”
“Us,” Tenny said. “It reminded you of us.”
“People like us,” he said, relieved. “The club too, I guess.”
Tenny swallowed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“The man who wrote it was pretty famous, I think. His name was Alfred, Lord Tennyson.”
Tenny stood very still, but he vibrated like a plucked cord.
“Ten is a number,” Reese went on. “But I thought, if you were going to be Tenny, that maybe your real name could be Tennyson. Like the poet. If you like. And then you could be a person. Like me.”