Hello, Universe: Chapters 8–16

The village was on the bank of a great river where lush fruits and vegetables grew, but no one was allowed to eat anything because it all belonged to the crocodile.

She was lagging behind her mother and staring blankly at the waffle fries.

He casually stepped behind his grandmother.

The door fogged quickly, obscuring Bull Junior and Bull Senior (but more importantly, obscuring him).

If you do, you can watch the sky shift from gray to auburn and next thing you know, it’s morning. No more darkness.

The reason I know this is because Mr. Piper likes to write names on the board when kids act up, which is totally juvenile, but sometimes teachers treat us like we’re seven years old.

He sticks his fingers in both of his ears, crosses his eyes, and juts his tongue out of the side of his mouth.

“Don’t know. Lots of things, I guess,” Mr. Bullens said, tossing the Doritos in the cart. “Some people are just born defective. Why? Do you see one?”

The woman glanced their way and gave them a snarling look, similar to the one Valencia had given Chet.

That didn’t leave much time for restful sleep; instead, guinea pigs like Gulliver slept in fits and starts, in fifteen-minute intervals.

Even though he still held on to his instinctual ways, he was comfortable enough that he ventured around the cage and made quite a bit of noise.

Maybe she’d use them to pelt him in the head so he could stop doing things like hiding behind freezer doors at the Super Saver.

Virgil was so overjoyed at the stillness of his usually bustling house that he didn’t even glance at the kitchen table as he opened the refrigerator.

He was too busy relishing in the discovery that he could hear his thoughts.

“Last night, I had a dream about a boy named Amado. He was walking through a meadow when he saw a bright red tree. He was so mesmerized by this tree that he decided to walk to it, even though everyone told him not to..."

I think his name is Craig or Greg, and her name is something indecipherable with an E, maybe.

When Mr. Frederick called on her, she asked, “Can snakes hear?”
The class snickered, Chet included.

Maybe she used the hearing aids to tune in to some other world and she was a witch, or she practiced voodoo at home or something.

Petty items like furniture crowded the spirit chamber, so Kaori kept it sparse.

This was a delicate matter. It was one thing to use the existing magnetic forces of fate. It was another to manipulate the universe to do your bidding.

Kaori apologized to the spirits again, then said, “No. It means she’s sharp and independent. She’s assertive, full of confidence. She’s probably got a little temper, too, and a ton of friends, all competing for her attention, while poor Virgil talks to a rodent. Basically, they’re the exact opposite of each other. Nothing in common, I bet. Not a thing.”

If that’s the case, they should just say so instead of blaming the whole thing on my perceived lack of responsibility.

So because my parents think I don’t know how to feed or walk a dog, Sacred is stuck out there in the woods, fending for himself.

He’s a big dog and he looks mean because he’s kinda mangy.

I mean, he lives by his wits in the woods, so he isn’t exactly wagging his tail twenty-four hours a day.

For Gulliver, dandelions were a rare delicacy.

For humans, they were noxious weeds that needed to stop growing.

Dandelions were everywhere in Virgil’s neighborhood. They sprouted from the cracks in the sidewalk, leaned against rusty fence posts, sneaked into well-manicured lawns. Virgil plucked them habitually, like an explorer searching for gems.

Flowers grew intermittently; a patch of iris here, a colony of dandelions there.

Flowers grew intermittently; a patch of iris here, a colony of dandelions there.

Lola was convinced the woods teemed with snakes, but Virgil was certain that he could find five stones here.

He was so focused on looking down, surveying the ground with his eyes, that he barely noticed the ominous rustling sound behind him.

He was so focused on looking down, surveying the ground with his eyes, that he barely noticed the ominous rustling sound behind him.

He was so focused on looking down, surveying the ground with his eyes, that he barely noticed the ominous rustling sound behind him.

But then the shuffling sound receded and disappeared, and the woods were quiet again.

Virgil wondered what the pillowcase was for, and in the space of about three seconds, he thought of a handful of terrifying scenarios: the Bull would smother him with it.

Virgil wondered what the pillowcase was for, and in the space of about three seconds, he thought of a handful of terrifying scenarios: the Bull would smother him with it.

A million horrifying images blazed through Virgil’s mind—the Bull tearing Gulliver in two, feeding him to a pit of lions, picking him up and tossing him into the trees—which is why he didn’t feel any better when the Bull finally stopped running and turned to face him, his cheeks flushed and his neck and hairline glistening.

With two hefty shoves, the Bull pushed the cover of the well aside and dangled the backpack over the now-open hole.

The Bull let go, and the bag fell into the dark, gaping well, so far down that Virgil didn’t even hear it land.