Giver Trilogy 01 - The Giver by Lois Lowry

of their first day of training. All of them talked at once, interrupting each other, hastily making the required apology for interrupting, then forgetting again in the excitement of describing the new experiences.
    Jonas listened. He was very aware of his own admonition not to discuss his training. But it would have been impossible, anyway. There was no way to describe to his friends what he had experienced there in the Annex room. How could you describe a sled without describing a hill and snow; and how could you describe a hill and snow to someone who had never felt height or wind or that feathery, magical cold?
    Even trained for years as they all had been in precision of language, what words could you use which would give another the experience of sunshine?
    So it was easy for Jonas to be still and to listen.
    After school hours he rode again beside Fiona to the House of the Old.
    "I looked for you yesterday," she told him, "so we could ride home together. Your bike was still there, and I waited for a little while. But it was getting late, so I went on home."
    "I apologize for making you wait," Jonas said.
    "I accept your apology," she replied automatically.
    "I stayed a little longer than I expected," Jonas explained.
    She pedaled forward silently, and he knew that she expected him to tell her why. She expected him to describe his first day of training. But to ask would have fallen into the category of rudeness.
    "You've been doing so many volunteer hours with the Old," Jonas said, changing the subject. "There won't be much that you don't already know."
    "Oh, there's lots to learn," Fiona replied. "There's administrative work, and the dietary rules, and punishment for disobedience—did you know that they use a discipline wand on the Old, the same as for small children? And there's occupational therapy, and recreational activities, and medications, and—"
    They reached the building and braked their bikes.
    "I really think I'll like it better than school," Fiona confessed.
    "Me too," Jonas agreed, wheeling his bike into its place.
    She waited for a second, as if, again, she expected him to go on. Then she looked at her watch, waved, and hurried toward the entrance.
    Jonas stood for a moment beside his bike, startled. It had happened again: the thing that he thought of now as "seeing beyond." This time it had been Fiona who had undergone that fleeting indescribable change. As he looked up and toward her going through the door, it happened; she changed. Actually, Jonas thought, trying to recreate it in his mind, it wasn't Fiona in her entirety. It
seemed to be just her hair. And just for that flickering instant.
    He ran through it in his mind. It was clearly beginning to happen more often. First, the apple a few weeks before. The next time had been the faces in the audience at the Auditorium, just two days ago. Now, today, Fiona's hair.
    Frowning, Jonas walked toward the Annex. I will ask The Giver, he decided.
    The old man looked up, smiling, when Jonas entered the room. He was already seated beside the bed, and he seemed more energetic today, slightly renewed, and glad to see Jonas.
    "Welcome," he said. "We must get started. You're one minute late."
    "I apologi—" Jonas began, and then stopped, flustered, remembering there were to be no apologies.
    He removed his tunic and went to the bed. "I'm one minute late because something happened," he explained. "And I'd like to ask you about it, if you don't mind."
    "You may ask me anything."
    Jonas tried to sort it out in his mind so that he could explain it clearly. "I think it's what you call seeing-beyond," he said.
    The Giver nodded. "Describe it," he said.
    Jonas told him about the experience with the apple. Then the moment on the stage, when he had looked out and seen the same phenomenon in the faces of the crowd.
    "Then today, just now, outside, it happened with my friend Fiona. She herself didn't change, exactly. But something about her changed for a second. Her hair