Free Skinned by Robin Wasserman

Not that it matters now.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because everything’s different now. Once I’m out of here? It’s a new life. Anything I want. Anything. ”
    “How did they die?” I asked quietly.
    “I thought you didn’t want to hear the tragic saga?”
    “Maybe I changed my mind. Unless it’s too hard for you to talk about.” But I didn’t say it the way Sascha would have, all fake sensitive and understanding. I said it like a challenge, and that’s the way she took it.
    “Okay, but I’m just warning you, it’s quite tragic. You’re going to feel pretty sorry for me.”
    “Don’t count on it.”
    “It was a car accident,” she said.
    I flinched. And even in the darkness she must have seen.
    “Yeah, weird, isn’t it? Who gets in car crashes anymore? But here we are. Statistically improbable freaks.”
    “Were you in the car? When it…”
    “I was three. We were—” She paused, then barked out a laugh. “This is the first time I’ve ever had to actually tell someone, you know? I didn’t know it would be so…”
    “You never told anyone ?” That was too much, too soon. Especially from a girl who wouldn’t even tell me her last name.
    “It’s not like you’re special or anything. I just don’t…I don’t meet a lot of new people. Or I didn’t. Before.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    “I was three,” she said quickly. “We were going to visit someone, I don’t even know who. I just remember they got me all dressed up, and it was exciting. I mean, they must have taken me off the grounds before, at least a couple times, but I guess I was too young to remember. I remember this, though. I remember being in the car seat, and listening to some song, and playing some stupid vidgame for babies—You remember, the one with the dinosaurs?”
    I nodded.
    “I was winning. And then—I don’t know. I don’t remember. Next thing, I wake up, and I’m in a hospital. They’re dead. And I’m…” She threaded her fingers through her hair, then let her arms fall across her face. “It was a bad accident.”
    “You were hurt.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    “Bad?” I guessed.
    “Worse.”
    “Worse than what?”
    “Than whatever you’re picturing. Worse.” Her voice hardened. “Let’s just say that prosthetics and organ transplants and all that? Fine. Great, if you’re an adult. But when you break a three year old, it’s not so easy to put her together again.”
    Enough, I thought. I get it. But I didn’t say anything. And she didn’t stop.
    “Picture a room. Lots of machines. A bed. People to shovel in the food, shovel out the shit, shoot up the painkillers. People to clean. People to do anything and everything. And in the bed, well…a thing that eats and shits and gets high and gets cleaned and the rest of the time just pretty much lays there.”
    But I didn’t want to picture it. “How long did it take?”
    “To what?”
    “To recover.”
    “Who said I recovered?”
    “I just assumed….”
    “Sorry to disappoint, but that was it. That room. That bed.”
    “But what about school? What about friends, or…” Or a life.
    “I saw it all on the vids. Same thing, right? That’s what you said.”
    That’s what I had said.
    “I had it all,” she said. “Stuff to read. People to talk to. Vids to watch. The whole network at my fingertips. Well, not fingertips. There weren’t any of those. But I got by. Massive amounts of credit will do that for you. And then as soon as I turned sixteen…”
    “What?”
    She stood up. “This,” she said, sweeping her arms out and spinning around. “This body that actually works . This life. Anything I want.”
    “You did this to yourself?” I asked, incredulous. “On purpose?”
    “Did you hear anything I said?”
    “I did, I get it, I just can’t imagine anyone actually choosing… this .”
    “You obviously don’t get it. Or you would see this was better than anything I could have had. And from what I hear, anything you