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"The air train carries us away from the sparkling, icy-white lights of City Hall toward the softer yellow porch lights and street lights of the Boroughs." (Page 20.)
My green eyes. My coppery-brown hair, which looks more golden in the compact than it does in real life. My straight small nose. My chin with a trace of a dimple like my grandfather's. All the outward characteristics that make me Cassia Marie Reyes, seventeen years old exactly. (Page 7.)
The incline increases, and I keep pace, wishing for the feeling of climbing the hill earlier that day when we were hiking. Outside. Branches and bushes and mud and sunlight on the top of the hill. (Page 114.)
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