I've lived twelve years of thirteen long months each and another twelve months besides, all of which living means I'm still one month away from the big birthday. Now, I won't officially become a man for thirty more days. Also true: going to the swamp to pick a few apples is not a job for a man cuz men are never allowed to be so idle. Ben can buy them at Mr Phelps's store if he really wants them. We don't need apples from the swamp, truth to tell. I follow after him, switching the switch against the grass on either side, squinting from the sun, try- ing not to think about nothing at all. I don't reach him, I don't mean to reach him, but he just laughs his little barking laugh and carries on down the trail. I take a switch of grass from beside the trail and I swat after him with it.

'Just have yer stupid poo and quit yapping about it.' Ben's sent me to pick him some swamp apples and he's made me take Manchee with me, even tho we all know Cillian only bought him to stay on Mayor Prentiss's good side and so suddenly here's this brand new dog as a present for my birthday last year when I never said I wanted any dog, that what I said I wanted was for Cillian to finally fix the fissionbike so I wouldn't have to walk every forsaken place in this stupid town, but oh, no, happy birthday, Todd, here's a brand new puppy, Todd, and even tho you don't want him, even tho you never asked for him, guess who has to feed him and train him and wash him and take him for walks and listen to him jabber now he's got old enough for the talking germ to set his mouth moving? Guess who? We're walking across the wild fields south-east of town, those ones that slope down to the river and head on towards the swamp.

Patrick ness the knife of letting go