Do you have any siblings? - Yes! I have an older brother who's turning 25 in a couple weeks and an older sister who's 21. I love them both to death; they're my best friends.
Do you watch the Carrie Diaries? - Did you not read the dissertation in the last chapter that I wrote explaining how much I do? I do not watch the Carrie Diaries. I can barely keep up with Nashville, Reign, the Bachelor and Parenthood!...sorry if that came off kind of bitchy. I'm not good at translating my thoughts to the computer so I sounded nice and humorous as I was thinking that but reading it just now I realize that it sounds kind of stuck up. sorry. but in all seriousness, there are tons of shows I wish I watched but I just do not have the time. I hear about TV and I'm like, "TV? What's TV? I watch Hulu." So yeah. that's that.
PLEASE SEND ME MORE QUESTIONS!
"So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." - Perks of Being a Wallflower
America woke, still wrapped in a robe and snuggled under blankets. She sat up when she realized she was alone but she saw Maxon walking in the room from the hallway. "Sorry, I was just getting some breakfast for us," he said, holding the door open for the butlers to bring in a tray laden with breakfast foods.
She smiled and laughed lightly. "Just like old times," she mused as the tray was set down on the bed in front of her. "Well, some old times. When we were alone and able to eat breakfast by ourselves in bed."
Maxon laughed too and sat back down on the bed next to her. He was already dressed and looked clean-shaven; he must have been awake for a while. Noticing her inquisition, he said, "I couldn't sleep. Having you in my arms made it easier but I still woke up at four in the morning."
There was the old Maxon, wearing his heart on his sleeve and ceaselessly reminding her of his hopeless affection to her. "What's for breakfast?" she asked, looking at him warmly.
After breakfast she got dressed, deciding to leave her hair natural for the day, now hanging halfway down her back in messy curls. When she saw Maxon, he took a ringlet in his fingers and said, "So this is what your hair looks like when it is left to nature."
She blushed and slung her backpack up on to her shoulders. "Where's Sawyer?" she asked, figuring he would know as they went downstairs.
"I sent him out to get a car ready for us," he told her, putting his hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her down the steps.
She frowned. "Us?" she repeated.
"There's something you and I need to do," he said cryptically. He held the front door open for her and they descended the steps quickly, walking toward the car sitting in front of the building. "Thanks Sawyer." Maxon took the keys from Sawyer's hand and put their backpacks in the back of the truck.
Sawyer bowed slightly and walked up the steps slowly, looking over his shoulder at them. "What's with him?"
Maxon glanced at the boy and shrugged. "He has a crush on you I guess." He peered at her from the corner of his eye. "I don't blame him, honestly."
She laughed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Maxon easily pulled out of the drive and started driving down the road. They rode in silence for a while, exchanging several awkward glances. She eventually reached over and rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, letting it rest there, feeling his tense muscles relax at the touch. "Did you ever meet your real father?"
He tensed up again but sighed. He was quiet for a few moments and she waited patiently for his reply. "Once. For my twelfth birthday, we took a trip to Honduragua where my adopted parents introduced me to my real parents. My mom died shortly after that," he said sadly.
She frowned. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "It's not like I really knew her. Anyway, that's kind of when things really went downhill with Clarkson and I. I'm actually kind of relieved he turned out to be a lunatic because I had a feeling he'd never give me the throne, even if I was supposed to look like his son." He made a sharp turn and for the first time she noticed that they were on a back country road. "I don't want to be a whole different person to you," he admitted as he parked the truck at the mouth of a cave.
Despite her growing curiosity, she was able to look at him in the eye and say, "You had this whole other side of you that I never knew about. How are you supposed to be anything but a stranger to me?"
"I told you that it's just a name that's different."
She shook her head. "You say that but a name is sort of a big deal. You don't see it but it matters so much because it goes back to your family's history. I felt so sorry for you when I found out about your father's abuse but now I know he's not really your dad – it doesn't make it less obscene but it does make it less pitiful."
He nodded, understanding. "We should go. We're gonna be late." He grabbed their backpacks from the back and led her to the cave, switching on his flashlight. "You ready for the final piece of the puzzle that is our former lives?"
She didn't understand what he was talking about until they walked further into the cave and the bedrock beneath her boots turned into a wooden walkway. They entered into a cavern with a strange orange glow in the ceiling. In front of her was a wooden railing.
"Go ahead, look," Maxon urged, waving to the railing. He followed her as she took a few tentative steps and then looked down. Beneath her, probably forty feet, was a small city. She was looking down into what seemed to be a plaza, with food booths and kiosks open, people trading for food and those precious items necessary for life.
She looked at the people's grimy clothes and looked back at Maxon. "These are the rebels?" she asked. "This is where they live?"
"Rebels is a strong word, don't you think?" he asked. She was still confused. "Rebels are what Clarkson liked to call the Masons and their families. He called them rebels because he wanted to get rid of them so as to be able to own me completely. He knew I was the heir to this small empire and I guess he didn't want them to take me away and overthrow him. When they attacked the palace, they weren't looking for a book; they were looking for me."
Her breath was taken away. "Can we go down?" she asked hesitantly.
He nodded. "Of course." He waved to the narrow set of wooden steps on either side of the landing they were standing on.
As she started to descend, she asked, "People can just walk in and out?"
He laughed. "Of course not. Are you forgetting who I am?"
"Right." Then she started to notice the people looking up at her, their eyes locking on her. Women whisked their children away into the small hallways branching out from the plaza like tree roots. "This is like a legit city, isn't it?"
"Yes. Probably three hundred people live down here. Those Masons who wanted to be an active part in getting me back. They were originally exiled by my real father for trying to steal me back but then he made this the main hub for Masons because these guys are the ones that really care." He led her around the edge of the plaza and down a hallway.
The stone hallway was dim and she heard cackling somewhere nearby, or maybe it was just echoing loudly. "Of course, it also became home to a lot of Eights that just wanted somewhere to live. The excavators try to keep up with the demand for housing but they have to be careful about where they dig." He motioned to a row of prostitutes who eyed him up as they passed and she thought she could see him visibly shake.
She almost ran into his back with the sudden stop but she saw in the dark that they were in front of a wooden door. Maxon pulled out an old key and unlocked it, walking through like it was his home. Upon further inspection though, it looked like it was. There was a large cot set up in one corner of the spacious room and a desk in the other. An opening in the wall lead down another hallway into what looked like the entire country's supply of computers.
They were lined up in rows, each lit with life and the Mason symbol on a blue screen. She looked at it in awe, not believing what she was seeing. "Impressive, huh?" Maxon asked.
She nodded, dumbstruck. "What is this?"
"This is the main headquarters for Masons." A bunch of voices echoed from one of the hallways stemming from the room and four young men emerged, cheering when they saw Maxon. "And those are my fellow leaders, I guess you could call them." He shook hands with them as they hooted and hollered when they saw America.
One of them, a lanky guy with brown dreadlocks approached her. "We'll take good care of you," he promised, winking. "As soon as this guy gets his act together and figures out how to rescue your kid."
She frowned, shrinking away from him slightly. There was a slithering sound behind her and she spun, seeing a woman sliding down a rope to the ground, her heeled boots touching down on the stone. "We're happy to have you here, Queen America," the woman said in a European accent. She had dark skin and cropped black hair. She was at least four inches taller than America and well-toned.
Maxon smiled at her. "This is Naomi; our master assassin."
"Sex slave turned master assassin. Dax's father was able to rescue me from my prison in Africa after I was kidnapped from my family," she elaborated. "Don't worry, I haven't slept with your husband." Two somewhat offensive slurs in less than a minute; America wasn't sure how much she liked Maxon's new friends. Or maybe they were just so shockingly different than the royal diplomats they called their friends. She stole a glance of Maxon and saw him chuckling so she went ahead and assumed that it was all in good fun.
Naomi sat down at a computer and propped her feet up on the table in front of her. "So Maxon here tells us you want to stage an uprising?"
Maxon rolled his eyes. "Naomi, you don't need to discuss this now with her."
She frowned. "Whatever," she sighed, inspecting her nails.
Maxon said something quietly to the guy who'd talked to her before and then led her out of the room. "Now, I have some things to take care of, leader duties and all that. You wanna come with me?"
She nodded eagerly and they set out together, exploring what had quickly become their lives.
So I saw a review a couple days ago that I had to address because it kind of bothered me so I really worked hard to get the next chapter done so I can update and answer it. (I am eight chapters ahead of you guys; you're getting chapter 12 now and I just finished chapter 20.)
anyway, someone asked me how I could like the Divergent series because of the bad ending. see, that stuck with me because I guess I see reading completely different from other people. I have read everything from Utopia to Dr. Seuss. I can honestly say that while some books are a lot better than others, books are still works of art and deserve to be treated as such. I don't read books to read the ending. yes, I am one of those people that read the ending of the book before I start it and yes, I do get upset when I ruin the ending for myself (especially with Allegiant). but if I just wanted to know the ending, I'd read the last chapter of every book I read first and then put the book down and never touch it again. I guess I love to read because I love to escape reality. one of my good friends just said to me this morning, "Art is an escape route from the cage that is our minds." as human beings, deep thought doesn't come naturally. we're all shallow beings and like to take the simple route in life. but when you read a book it's like you become friends and enemies with all of the characters in the those books. I like to think of Elizabeth Bennett as my best friend just because I GET HER. she's awesome. books are so much more than books. books are depictions of our wildest fantasies and imaginings and characters are our next-door neighbors and our cashier at the check-out at Wegmans. I guess what I'm trying to say is that yes, the ending of Allegiant was not ideal but maybe to Veronica Roth, there really is a Tris Prior and her story deserved to be told in full, explicit detail. Kiera Cass is always going on about how her characters talk to her. Books are more than words on pages. Such strong characters like Tris or Katniss don't come out of nowhere; they both exist in our hearts and minds and as soon as we started the Hunger Games, Katniss came to life within us. you can make your own judgments about books but remember that when you judge a book it is the same as judging other people; your own prejudices might just get in the way of a really great friendship and unless you put those prejudices aside, you will miss out on possibly a really incredible experience.
So now that I've written another dissertation, I'm just gonna ask for more reviews and questions!...please. ;D