From The Corner Of The Oval の小説・ストーリー

So I'll congratulate Olivia at home later. "What are you thinking?" I overheard Nova inquire. "Nothing, let's get some pineapple juice before we go home," I just said. "You're smiling, but you're still a creep and weirdo." "All right, back to you." "Do the same feathers flock together?" "Yeah." I stick my tongue. Nova did the same. We're still as childish as ever. Then we laugh. Because we're on the upper corner level of the gym seats, no one will be able to hear us. I returned my attention to the screen. Olivia won, as expected, after the counting and validation.

It was real in the way that working neighbourhoods were real — used, inhabited, the geography of ordinary life. Adrian stood outside it for a moment before going in. He looked at it the way he'd looked at the Victorian fountain — the reading of it, the attending. He looked at the building and then at the street and then at the building again, and Daniel stood beside him and tried to see what he was seeing. "The corner," Daniel said. "Yes," Adrian said. "The two streets meet at an angle. Not ninety degrees."

Ryan replied. Bennett's eyes darkened as he looked up immediately. "Redo that schedule...and make it snappy." He said, and Ryan nodded. Canceling the Family Lunch Date. * * * * The morning breeze did Justice to the small Olive Tree by the side of the Huge Mansion. "It doesn't grow more than this?" The soft alluring voice of Octavia could be heard, as she talked to the guards. "It doesn't Ma'am. it's an Olive Tree, this is how they are." The men there answered.

She took a seat and folded her arms until she saw the very unusual field or rather there was no field at all. There was a huge solid, stone square in the centre of the oval arena and the crowds were divided into five sections wearing their teams’ colours. This was going to be a strange game indeed. There was a commentary box and exclusive seats and one booth that lead right onto the floor of the arena. A man, who looked like he was the king or even prince as he seemed young, walked out of the booth as the crowd roared even more loudly.

"I'm Ellie Iverson, and you're just as gorgeous as Leo told us. He asked me to keep an eye out for you and show you where we sit and so on. Come on, it's this way." Tugging me by the hand, she led me through a door, into a room whose opposite side opened out into the stadium. I blinked at the vivid green of the field in the bright sunshine, even as I drank in the sight of the Rebels warming up out there. If I'd been alone, I would've been craning my neck, looking for number twenty-two.

Amelia and Jonathan agreed. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I agree with Alfred. You should talk to her.” So Olivia left the wings of the stage and followed the woman to the bench overlooking the lake. The gala was in full swing inside and they could hear the music and the people laughing. It was a calm evening, and the water was so calm it looked like glass under the light of the moon. “I know this must be quite the shock,” she told Olivia. Olivia nodded, staring out at the dark water.

I strolled into the big sitting room to see Oliver standing in the corner while Ellen stood next to him with their mouth fused. "What exactly are you doing here, you hungry puppy?" A voice asked from the corner, and I turned to see Mrs. Caine sitting at the corner. "Oliver!" I screamed out, but he didn't turn to look at me, nor did he say a word to me. "Didn't you see the press release early this morning? Leave us alone; Oliver is mine now," Ellen said, immediately placing her head on Oliver's shoulders. "Oliver," I called out the second time, but he didn't budge. Mrs. Caine got up from the couch and came to where I was standing.

Turning, she saw Olivia huddled in the corner, her once-polished appearance replaced by haggard skin and loose flesh. "Olivia!" Sunny wept.

But I didn't care anymore. ​The lounge was dimly lit. I walked past the velvet ropes as my eyes swept the booths until they landed on the person sitting in the far corner, sipping an expensive scotch. The corner of my lips lifted. “Conrad.”

"I drew it at school." Cornelius looked across the grass at the white square pinned by a blade of weed. He looked at the five figures, noting his own shape stationed precisely on the outer edge—present, not yet inside, but firmly drawn into the landscape. "I can see that," Cornelius said, his gravelly voice remarkably quiet. "You're in it," Eli stated. Cornelius looked down at his grandson. "I can see that too."