Free What's Left of Me by Kat Zhang Page B

he said, as if he could guess what I might be wondering just by looking at me. “She pretended so well there, we started pretending she was dominant even for our parents. They were so relieved. And now they . . . well, we never talk about it anymore.” He grinned wryly. “We’re all such excellent pretenders, I suppose our parents think we’re normal. Or they tell themselves that, anyway.”
    He fiddled with his latest project, a flashlight that didn’t need batteries but could be wound up like a clock. He had so many things stashed away in the basement: cassette players linked up to speakers, computers he’d built and others he’d taken apart, even dissected cameras. He’d promised to show me sometime, when I could move.
    “I wasn’t sure if we’d ever find anyone else,” Ryan said. “Even if we did, I didn’t know—didn’t know if it would be safe. To try . . . to be . . .” He paused. “Hally wanted it so badly. More than all the rest of us. She just had to meet others, you know? To be with other people like us. But I thought—Devon and I thought it would be too dangerous to even try. It took a few months for her to convince us.” He looked at me, then back to his flashlight. “I’m glad she did, though.”
    Me too , I wanted to say. I could have, probably. I could have said it, but somehow it didn’t feel like enough. Because if Hally hadn’t stopped Addie in the hall that day or insisted on us going to their house after the museum flood—or if Devon hadn’t agreed to break into the school’s files or if Lissa hadn’t made Addie listen or any one of a dozen other tiny things—I’d probably still be counting my existence in weekends and babysitting jobs. I’d still be nothing but a ghost haunting Addie’s life.
    “Eva?” Ryan said.
    I looked up, linking our eyes to his. So strange, to see how different this boy’s face could be when Ryan, not Devon, was in control. He had a smile that made me ache to reciprocate.
    “Yes?” I said again. It was slightly easier the second time, like playing a song on an instrument after practice.
    He took a minute to answer. A frown wrinkled his forehead—darkened his eyes. For a moment, I was afraid he’d shift. Devon hardly ever spoke to me. Ryan shifting now would mean the end of our conversation, would mean my lying on the couch alone until Addie woke up. But Ryan didn’t, though his next words were halting and forced.
    “You ever wonder what really happens to those kids who’re taken away?”
    I just stared at him. His frown deepened. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
    Then: “Ever wonder how many hybrids are really out there—”
    His face jerked away from ours and stiffened. And then he was gone. Devon angled his body toward the wall.
    “Anyway,” he said quietly. “Not like you can answer yet.”
    Hally came home just then, and Devon withdrew upstairs. I had no way to call him back, no way to speak with Ryan again.
    The days and weeks slid by. I grew stronger at a snail’s pace, remaining glued to the couch and dumb except for fragments of sentences that got increasingly longer. But soon I could open our eyes regularly and wiggle our fingers and toes. The first time I lifted our hand a full six inches or so off the couch, Hally squealed and clapped her hands.
    When I wasn’t worrying about regaining control of our body so slowly, I worried about doing it too quickly. Was it too fast for Addie? Sometimes, Lissa or Hally would tell her what sort of progress I’d made that afternoon. Addie never said much, just nodded and picked up our book bag so she could leave.
    I could never help feeling hollow.

Nine
     
    A ddie wriggled out of our school uniform as fast as she could, reaching for a pair of shorts even as she stepped out of our skirt. Still, Lyle was pounding at our bedroom door before we finished dressing. “Mom says to hurry up , Addie. We’re going to be late .”
    I’d been the one to suggest we skip going to