Eleven Book By Sandra Cisneros Novels & Stories

Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events and places is purely coincidental. Emiliana

Sander não se defendia, por isso Wilker mandou os colegas segurarem os seus braços e atingiu-o com vários socos a cada leitura que fazia do meu diário. Depois o bando se juntou a Wilker, agredindo Sander sem parar. Eu chorava, implorando que parassem, mas nenhum deles me dava ouvidos. Eu sempre quis saber qual era a sensação que Sander tinha toda vez que via a alma de alguém.

Prologue Kanua Village, Zambia; January, 1991 There was a murderous glow in the eyes of the ten year old Luyando Chimeko as she stood watch over her drunk and passed out father snoring away on the mat inside the tent that a good Samaritan had lent to them which they had come to regard as their home for the past one week.

The pages turned themselves, faster, a blur of images: Elena, five years old, watching Javier sign the loan, her tiny hand on his sleeve. Sofia, hiding chemo bags in the restaurant’s freezer, tears in her eyes. Marco, twelve, hacking the city’s traffic lights to keep the power on. Me, proposing by the East River, lying when I said no more wagers. The book laughed, a sound that wasn’t sound but pressure, a weight on my heart. The alley shifted. The rubble became the Hamptons mansion’s marble floor, the smoke the gala’s chandeliers, the ash the warehouse’s crater. We were inside the book, the pages walls, the words chains.

“I know you’re curious, anyone would be. You absolutely want to know who the person you’re eating from is. But you have to trust me that he is completely safe to be around and would do no harm. If he wanted to tell you, he would have already and it’s not my business to interpret and do so myself so don’t expect me to say anything. I will take all of my friends’ secrets to grave if they want it to stay that way.” They both grew silent as they stared into each other’s eyes. He held so many feelings in his eyes. He reminded her of a book she read called No Matter What. The main character was called Tim. Tim held the secrets of all of his friends, yet no one knew about any. He would go as far as

What happened with Selena is just the tip of the iceberg, and I feel lucky that I didn’t get in anyone else’s way before I leave for my house. I walk as fast as my legs can carry me down the alleyway, the boys on the other side have taken my money from me, so if anyone else meets me here, they’ll beat me up because I have no money to give. Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I’m about to make it out of the alleyway when something catches my eye. It’s glowing in the dark, the yellow light is bright enough to draw attentions. I want to ignore it, I know I should, but when I take a closer look, it’s a book. I love books, and seeing this one lying on the floor hurts my heart.

The triplets, she heard, were drafting a code that could spoof the gridded perimeter, allowing for temporary, glorious lapses in surveillance. It was the book that changed everything. Finch smuggled it into the yard during a midshift riot. Elena felt its impossible weight, the roughness of its cover, the crisp drag of a page between fingers. The mothers gathered in her room, trembling, as Elena read aloud from the first chapter: “There is no such thing as a finished city.”