Augustus Waters examined the collection of the Rijksmuseum from afar.
“What?” Augustus asked after a while. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just...” I couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t know how to.
“I’m just very, very fond of you.” He smiled with half his mouth, his nose inches from mine.
“The feeling is mutual. I don’t suppose you can forget about it and treat me like I’m not dying.”
“I don’t think you’re dying,” I said. “I think you’ve just got a touch of cancer.” He smiled. Gallows humor.
I’m on a roller coaster that only goes up,” he said. “And it is my privilege and my responsibility to ride all the way up with you,” I said.
Would it be absolutely ludicrous to try to make out?” “There is no try,” I said. “There is only do.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On the flight home, twenty thousand feet above clouds that were ten thousand feet above the ground,
Gus said, “I used to think it would be fun to live on a cloud.” “Yeah,” I said.
Like it would be like one of those inflatable moonwalk machines, except for always.”
But then in middle school science, Mr. Martinez asked who among us had ever fantasized about living in the clouds,
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