Free Falls the Shadow by Stefanie Gaither

claiming in frightened whispers that my sister was a prime example of a Huxley experiment gone wrong. And then they stood back, or looked the other way, when she was bullied—even when Lacey and her friends used to take Violet’s food at lunch, claiming that she wasn’t a real person, or even a proper copy of a person, so she didn’t need to eat, did she?
    But of course, I stood up for her back then, too. Which resulted in them bullying me and taking my food instead, because if I starved to death, I could just be replaced—and then I could become a freak just like her. One big happy family of freaks.
    Jaxon knows all about these incidents, because he’s the one who ended up getting them to finally leave me alone. He even tried to give me his lunch on a few of those days when mine ended up getting “accidentally” knocked on the floor. I was too embarrassed to take it.
    And I’m embarrassed now, just thinking about it.
    â€œYou and your sister are close?” Jaxon asks. Except it sounds more like a statement than a question. And I don’t know why, but for some reason that bugs me a little.
    â€œWe’re sisters,” I answer, voice calm and calculated. “Family. Which is why I had to stand up for her.”
    He considers my words for a second. “Had to? Or wanted to?”
    What the hell kind of a question is that?
    â€œWhy does it matter?” I ask with a frown. “Can we just drop it? Talk about something normal? Like school or sports or philosophy, or—”
    â€œPhilosophy?” He cuts me a sidelong glance.
    â€œOkay, maybe not philosophy. But something else. Anything.” Except Violet.
    â€œOkay, okay. Sorry. Just curious.”
    I sink back against the seat and close my eyes for a second. “Yeah, you and the rest of the world,” I mutter.
    â€œWell, let’s focus on where we’re going, then. And maybe on what we’re going to do about those guys.”
    â€œWhat guys?” My eyes flash open, and I follow Jaxon’s gaze to the rearview mirror. There are three trucks behind us. The one in front is close enough that I can see the tiny silver torch—one of the many symbols the CCA proudly uses—swinging above the dash. I curse under my breath.
    I wonder how long it will be before one of them reports that I’m not at school?
    How suspicious will they decide that makes me? They’re going to accuse me of trying to hide, and my hands start to shake at the thought of being caught, of being dragged in for more police questioning. I grab the corner of the seat, trying to steady them, while my lips silently recite lines from Much Ado About Nothing ; it’s a nervous habit I’ve developed, performing plays and songs in my mind when I want to slip away from the moment I’ve found myself in. It normally calms me down. Today it doesn’t seem to be working, though, and I’ve made itthrough almost all of act five, scene two, before Jaxon interrupts.
    â€œGeez. Are they always this persistent?”
    â€œSome days it’s worse than others.”
    He’s quiet for a minute. Then, “All right. They are entirely too close to my car, and it’s stressing me out.” His fingers fly across the buttons on the side of the steering column. “I’m going to lose them.”
    â€œWhat? How?”
    â€œYou wearing your seat belt?”
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œGood.”
    There’s a high-pitched ding , and all the display screens across the dash glow blue for a second. Jaxon’s hand falls to the gearshift between us. He jerks it back, over, and up, and a split second later the car rockets forward. The momentum throws me back and all but takes my breath away.
    â€œHoly crap,” I manage to gasp.
    â€œSorry about that,” he says. “I should have warned you; the gasoline engine has a lot more get-up than anything electric. Which is why they’re