Among the Hidden

I want to Live! Not Die, Not Hide, LIVE!

Sure you can be a coward and hope somone else changes the wrld for you. You can hide up in that attic of yours until someone knocks on the door and says, 'Oh, hey, they freed the hidden. Want to come out?' Is that what you want" Luke didnt answer "You've got to come, Luke, or you'll hate yourself the rest of your life. When you dont have to hide anymore, even years from now, there'll always be some small part of you whispering 'I don't deserve this. I didnt fight for it. I'm not worth it.' And you are, Luke, you are. You're smart and funny and nice, and you should be living life, instead of being buried alive in that old house of yours

Hope doesn't mean anything. ... Action's the only thing that counts.

The Government justifies keeping everyone else in poverty because people seem to work the hardest when they're right on the edge of survival.

It's people like you who change history. People like me--we just let things happen to us.

There was a law against Luke.

But Mother, I don't want to go. It's just that...I have to. I can't spend the rest of my life hiding in the attic. [...] I don't want to be a burden[...]I want to do something with my life. Figure out ways to help other third kids. Make—make a difference in the world.

the first tree shudder and fall, far off in the distance. Then he heard his mother call out the kitchen window: “Luke! Inside. Now.” He had never disobeyed the order to hide. Even as a toddler, barely able to walk in the backyard’s tall grass, he had somehow understood the fear in his mother’s voice. But on this day, the day they began taking the woods away, he hesitated. He took one extra breath of the fresh air, scented with clover and honeysuckle and—coming from far away—

Maybe never again as long as I live.” He turned and walked into the

Mother came over and gave Luke’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the stove. They had defied the Government once, with Luke. That had taken all the defiance they had in them. Maybe more.

want to change history?” Luke made a stab at humor.

Staring into the ring of candles—proud that the number of his years finally made a ring, all around the cake

my parents are very good at bribery.

saw the first tree shudder and fall, far off in the distance. Then he heard his mother call out the kitchen window: “Luke! Inside. Now.

the backyard’s tall grass, he had somehow understood the fear in his mother’s voice. But on this day, the day they began taking the woods away, he hesitated. He took one extra breath of the fresh air, scented with clover and honeysuckle and—coming from far away—

Luke’s dad harrumphed, and paused in the midst of shoveling forkfuls of boiled potatoes into his mouth.

angles from their former lofty positions in the sky. Their absence made everything look different, like a fresh haircut exposing a band of untanned skin on a forehead. Even from deep inside the kitchen, Luke could tell the trees were missing because everything was brighter, more open. Scarier.

smashed fly or the dead pig, gone stiff in the sun. It made his stomach feel funny even trying. “I don’t think it’s fair we’ve got to do Luke’s chores now,” Luke’s other brother,

I wouldn’t even let your dad talk about . . .