Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

of it. Worm and Dylan talked tough, but that was all.
Dad sat down across from me. He looked tired. “I’d
still like to know how someone manages to get a
sunburn on a day like this.”
Right. The sunburn. “Guess I’m pretty sensitive,” I
said.
“You can say that again,” he said dryly.
He let me go, and I went to take a shower and
thought about Emma. Then I brushed my teeth and
thought about Emma and washed my face and
thought about Emma. After that I went to my room and
took the apple she’d given me out of my pocket and
set it on the nightstand, and then, as if to reassure
myself she still existed, I got out my phone and looked
through the pictures of her I’d taken that afternoon. I
was still looking when I heard my father go to bed in
the next room, and still looking when the gennies
kicked off and my lamp went out, and when there was
no light anywhere but her face on my little screen, I lay
there in the dark, still looking.