I was twelve, two years past the government-mandated deadline, when I succumbed to the curse lettered in my genes. But I was lucky, even then. I lost control of my body, leaving Addie to command our limbs, but I never disappeared completely.
It was better than dying.
Are you all right, Addie? Mom asked, those first few weeks after I was declared gone. She spoke the words like they pinched her lips on the way out, like she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that Addie might not be okay, even then. Addie should have been normal.
I’m fine, Addie said, even when I screamed and screamed in her head, even when she was holding me as she smiled for our parents, telling me she was sorry, begging me to be as okay as she supposedly was.
Hally and Ryan Mullan were the ones who released me from the prison of my own bones. Where would I be if Hally hadn’t convinced Addie to go home with her that afternoon? Still paralyzed. Still alone. Not entirely, because I would always have Addie, but—alone, in every other sense of the word.
<We’d be home> Addie said once, when I whispered the question to her. The words floated between our linked minds, where no one else could hear us. <Mr. Conivent wouldn’t have taken us to Nornand. We wouldn’t be here.>
Here in Anchoit, this shining city by the western sea, smelling the salt the waves tossed into the air.
It had been my turn, then, to say I’m sorry. Because Addie was right. If Hally hadn’t—if I hadn’t convinced Addie to go to the Mullans’ house, to take the medication, to take that first step away from normality, we would still be home. We wouldn’t be out of danger—as hybrids, we could never truly relax—but we would be a little safer. We’d be going to school and watching movies and laughing at our little brother when he clowned around the kitchen.
<Don’t apologize, Eva. That’s not what I meant. I—> She’d hesitated, staring at the ceiling of this strange new apartment. Our new hideaway. <I never could have done it. Let you live like that. Not when I knew there was another way. And we’re out of Nornand. We’re going to be okay.>
Not like the other children who’d walked through those hospital halls. Like Jaime Cortae, who’d lost his other soul to a scalpel.
Addie and I had been lucky.
Perhaps, if we stayed lucky, we would never again have to see Mr. Conivent with his pressed, white button-up shirts. We would never again feel Jenson’s cold grip on our wrist—never come under the jurisdiction of his review board.
We would be allowed to live just as we were: Eva and Addie, Addie and Eva. Two girls inside of one.
It was stuffy in the phone booth, even with the door propped partway open. Our desire for privacy couldn’t override the sickness that gripped us in the small, enclosed space. Squished cigarette butts littered the ground, their smoky smell lingering in the early-morning air.
<We shouldn’t do this> I said.
We weren’t even supposed to be outside. We’d snuck out of the apartment before Emalia and Kitty woke up, and we had to make it back before then as well. No one knew we were here, not even Ryan or Hally.
Addie pressed the phone receiver against our ear. The dial tone mocked us.
<The government will be expecting something like this> I said. <Peter said they’d bug our house. They’ll trace the call. And we’re not far enough away from the apartment. We can’t put the others in danger.>
Our free hand slipped into our pocket and closed around our chip. Ryan had given it to us right before we arrived at Nornand, and it had connected us to him during our time at the clinic. Habit made us rub it between our fingers like a good-luck charm.
Addie’s voice was soft. <He’s eleven today.>
Lyle was eleven. Our little brother.
The night Mr. Conivent confiscated Addie and me, Lyle had been at the hospital, doing one of his thrice-weekly rounds of dialysis. Unlike our parents, he’d had no say in letting us go. We never got to tell him good-bye.
It would only be one call. A few coins in the slot. Ten numbers. So quick. So simple.
Hi, Lyle, I imagined saying. I pictured his flop of yellow hair, his skinny arms and legs, his crooked-toothed grin.
Hi, Lyle—
Then what? Happy birthday. Happy eleventh birthday.
The last time I’d wished Lyle happy birthday—actually spoken those words aloud—he’d been turning seven. After that, I’d lost the strength to do more than watch as Addie spoke for me. I’d hovered in a body I couldn’t control, a ghost in a family that didn’t know I still existed.
What did one say after four years like that?
Thinking about what I’d tell Mom was even worse.
Hi. It’s Eva. I was there the whole time. I was there all those years, and you never knew.
Hi. It’s Eva. I’m okay—I think I’m safe. Are you okay? Are you safe?
Hi. It’s Eva. I wish I were home.
Hi. It’s Eva. I love you.
I could see Mom so clearly it hurt: the panes of her face, her laugh lines, and the deeper lines on her brow not etched by laughter. I could see her in her waitressing uniform: black slacks and a white blouse, stark against her corn-silk hair. Addie and I had always wanted hair like hers, so smooth and straight it glided through our fingers. Instead, we had Dad’s curls, lazy and halfhearted. Princess hair, he’d called it when Addie and I were small enough to sit in his lap, breathing in the smell of his aftershave, begging for stories that ended in Happily Ever After.
I wanted, so badly, to know how our family was. So much could have happened in the nearly two months since Addie and I had last slept in our own bed, last woken up staring at our own ceiling.
Had Lyle gotten the kidney transplant we’d been promised, or was he still chained to his dialysis appointments? Did our parents even know what had happened to Addie and me? What if they thought we were still at the clinic, being cured of our hybridity?
Was that better or worse than them knowing the truth? A month and a half ago, Addie and I had broken out of Nornand Clinic of Psychiatric Health. We should have brought all the other patients with us. But we’d failed. In the end, we’d left with just Ryan and Devon, Hally and Lissa, Kitty and Nina. And Jaime, of course. Jaime Cortae.
Now we were hiding outside the system entirely, sheltered by Peter and his underground network of hybrids. We were the fugitives we’d heard about in government class. The criminals whose arrest—and they were always arrested in the end—blared across the news.
Would Mom and Dad want to know that?
What would they do if they did? Come charging across the continent to take us home? Protect us, like they hadn’t protected us before? Tell us they were sorry, they’d made a terrible mistake in ever letting us go?
Maybe they would just turn us in again.
No.
I couldn’t bear to think they might.
They’re going to help you get well, Addie, Dad had said when he called us at Nornand.