Free The Family by Marissa Kennerson

blond. Elegant-looking women with big, shiny purses and tights tucked into riding boots, sunglasses pushed on top of their heads. Old men with beautiful sweaters, tan slacks, and shiny loafer shoes. Some people’s clothes looked new, and some looked old and tattered. Some people looked clean and well cared-for and others heartbreakingly neglected. Twig forgot about her cast and her pain. Her fear soon turned to something else: Curiosity. Fascination. She wished Ryan were here to see this with her.
    “Okay, you pick the song.”
    “Katy Perry, ‘California Gurls.’”
    Twig looked up in the direction of the voices. A guy and a girl were standing a stone’s throw from her down the hallway. They seemed to be about Twig’s age and both had the same warm, light brown skin and dark brown curly hair flecked with amber. Their eyes were a beautiful shade of green. Most of the people in the hospital seemed to be Latino, but these two looked as if they were a mix of black and white.
    “Sister, surely you jest.”
    “Brother, I do not. It’s catchy. Either you can dance or you can’t.”
    They looked like biological sister and brother, but everyone in the Family called one another “brother” and “sister,” too, so Twig couldn’t be sure. The boy was on crutches, a cast covering one of his feet. He was gorgeous.
    “Cute,” Marianna whispered in Twig’s ear, stopping the chair to let Twig watch for a moment. Did Marianna know she had never been off the compound? No, she couldn’t know that. But it seemed like Dr. Young and Marianna were conspiring to give Twig a chance to look around the hospital. Maybe that was crazy.
    “All right, Hazel. You’re killing me, but all right. You know I like a challenge. Got your iPod synched?” The boy was playful. Twig had no idea what he was talking about, but she liked listening to him talk to his sister. It was like they were playing catch with their words.
    “Synched. Do you mind if I film this? On crutches and grooving to Katy Perry? This goes right to Facebook.”
    Without looking up, the boy answered, “Negative.”
    “Please?” the girl asked.
    “Deal’s off if you mention Facebook again.”
    Twig watched as the two of them stuck tiny white globes in their ears and clipped whisper-thin silver machines, smaller than matchboxes, onto the pockets of their shorts.
    The girl had on cut-off jean shorts, and her legs were muscular and thin. Her hair was pulled back from her face with barrettes. Her eyes glittered green. The two looked so much alike that they could have been twins. And they looked healthy. Really healthy. These did not look like people who were infected with a virus. These two looked nothing like Anna had that night. In fact, so far she hadn’t seen anyone who looked like Anna had when Doc brought her in. Twig continued to watch as the boy started to push his chin out and move his rib cage and shoulders from side to side. Twig heard Marianna giggle beside her. Twig looked up at her, and Marianna gave her a sweet smile and gently stroked her cheek.
    Twig gathered that the pair was listening to music, but she had never seen anything like the small devices they used. The boy began to put on a real show. He stuck his crutches out in front of him and used them as extended hands, pushing them back and forth, moving up and down. It was so rhythmic that Twig could almost hear the music. The girl watched, her arms crossed with mock disdain, bopping her head smartly, shoulders dipping and rising.
    The boy was cute. Marianna was right. Twig studied him as he danced. They hadn’t noticed her sitting there, so she could just look. He was muscular, like the girl, but taller. His smile was infectious. Twig loved watching him. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a bright orange T-shirt with a white logo that looked like a record album. That was how the Family listened to music at home—record players. Not often, though, and nothing that would make someone move like