"Are you going to tell the Leader?" I asked, watching his fingers tap-tap-tap the wooden floor. The sound couldn't have been very loud, but to my ears it was louder than thunder. "Dawai, are you going to tell the Leader?" He refused to answer. His eyes were glued to the ground, and his mouth was sealed shut. If he hadn't been breathing, and if he hadn't been tapping away at the floor, I would've mistaken him for a statue. Before I knew it, I was taking his tapping hand in mine, and intertwining my fingers with his. In his state of panic, his fingers wrapped around mine with such force that I had to stop myself from letting out a gasp; this was one thing I doubt either of us would ever do if the situation was any different. He looked up slowly, carefully, as if I were a dangerous animals. His eyes were now just as desperate as mine. "No." To Elyse and the other two hundred and eleven citizens, Alridy was home. To the Outsiders, Alridy was a prison. Elyse couldn't understand how they could feel this way. Alridy was her home, had been her mother's home, and her mother's mother's home before that. They'd all been born in the same house, and in the same room. How could anyone try to convince her that she wasn't meant to be there; was meant to be living in what Dawai called the 'Outside World'?

Morgan is fresh out of college and has come upon a wonderful opportunity-- to be a camera operator on the scene of John Cleese's movie A Fish Called Wanda. Romance ensues.