There’s a whole room full of kids. There’s a whole school full of ‘em. They’re all kinda different, and they’ve all got stuff in common. Each is a unique individual, and all together, they make up this complicated whole termed a high school. These are their stories, better than even they could tell them. Because they don’t know how; Underneath it all, they’re still just kids.

She wasn’t sure how long they had spent in the Garden. Time was still a slippery concept for her. Every so often she would recall that she had last seen a particular stone the day before, or several days ago, but then the relation would disappear as she became distracted. There was much to be distracted by in Eden.