GENRE: YA Dystopian
Sixteen-year-old Ana must beat a psycho angel's funhouse or the earth dies; but the only way to win is to become part of the game.
Ma keeps telling me not to complain about spring. It means warm weather, she says, and sunlight instead of the Glow, and lettuce. She's right, especially about the Glow, but she's not the one on her knees every April, yanking out clumps of purple loosestrife.
"Yanno, Pars, you'd think this crud would give up the fight after ten years."
Pars, my sort-of boyfriend, grinned at me from his pile of uprooted seedlings.
"It's like a cockroach, Ana. You can't kill it, and it's no good to eat."
"If only dandelions were as fertile. I have two jars of snap beans waiting to become dandelion green soup." I yanked two handfuls of weeds and threw them on my pile.
We weren't the only indentured servants—that is, everyone out of diapers—doing time in the Delaware Farm that Wednesday. It hadn't rained for a week, and that meant weeding. My twin sister and brother were on the broccoli quarter-acre. Arguing again. What a shock.
"Hey, brats! Less whine, more weed."
They gave me the raspberry in unison. Why ma says fourteen is so mature is beyond me.
Something tickled the back of my neck. I swatted at it.
"Ow!" Pars caught my hand. "It's me, not a black fly." His arms circled me. "You look so sexy when you're sweaty. Makes me want to—"
He kissed my neck. I leaned against him as pleasant shivers traveled down my back. And then he copped a feel.