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  Instinctively, I lunge for a tissue box. “Your AV719 trial can’t start soon enough. Next week, right?”

  His eyes are full of tears as he chokes out, “No trial.”

  “They’re not doing the trial?” Nova Genetics isn’t even the lead researcher on it.

  Sammy shakes his head. “They’re still doing the trial, just not with me.”

  I can barely breathe. Did they kick him out because of me? “I can fix this, Sammy. Let me call Dr. Gordon and he can call the university.”

  Sammy stares into the camera, breathing heavily. “It wasn’t their decision. Mom doesn’t want to risk it, not after what happened to you.”

  I scream, scaring the hell out of Sammy, and Shane, who runs over to me. I shake him off and yell into the screen, “That’s insane. Put Mom on.”

  Sammy shakes his head. “Gene therapy isn’t a miracle. You should know that.”

  “This is totally different. I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me. Put Mom on now!” When she shows up, I yell, “How could you take Sammy out of the trial?”

  “Calm down. You’re scaring him.”

  My voice goes shriller. “Scaring him? What about curing him? You’ve seen the data on AV719. He needs it.”

  “Not now, Aislyn. When you pull yourself together, we can discuss this like adults.” She cuts off our chat.

  Oh, God, what have I done? Now my decision to accept CZ88 has life-and-death consequences for Sammy too. I rock on my bed, sobbing.

  Shane pats my back and makes soothing sounds, but I ask him to leave me alone. I have to fix this, to make sure Sammy gets his chance. Jumping up, I grab the phone.

  When Dr. Gordon answers, I try to control myself, but my words still blast out like an air horn. “How could you let my mom take Sammy out of the AV719 trial?”

  His voice is subdued, reminding me he’s still in mourning for his daughter. “Believe me, I tried to convince her otherwise. Give her time.”

  I want to throw the phone against the wall. “Time? If we wait too long, Sammy’s lung capacity might be too low to qualify for anything but a transplant.”

  “She’s had a bad scare, Aislyn.”

  “Then you need to find a cure for me fast, and get her unscared.”

  He sighs the sigh of someone who’s suffered through many dark hours. “I’m trying.”

  “Not hard enough. People are dying.”

  Now his voice cracks. “I know, Aislyn, I know.”

  After the call, I can’t stop pacing. If I weren’t stuck in here, I could convince Mom, face-to-face. I almost barrel into Dr. Culdicott when she arrives. “When my brother has his inpatient visits, there’s a checklist of criteria he has to pass before they’ll discharge him. What’s the list for Shane and me? You can’t keep us in here forever.”

  She blinks rapidly and seems to catch her breath. “Your isolation has more to do with the possibility of infecting others than your symptoms at this point.”

  Symptoms that they can’t treat anyway. “But all the evidence shows this isn’t airborne; we’d have to purposely transmit it.”

  She shakes her head. “There’s still so much that’s unknown about gene therapy. And plenty of people are fighting against your release.”

  I force myself to calm down and appear matter-of-fact. “How about if we’re symptom-free for a certain number of days? And Shane signs an oath not to hook up with any girls?”

  Dr. Culdicott’s facemask seems to crease down the middle along with her forehead. “It’s as much a political decision as a health one. The governor would have to sign off.”

  I say, “Every day you keep us here is a day away from our families.”

  She sighs. “I’ll discuss it with the epidemiologists.”

  As she leaves, I shout, “Happy Independence Day!”

  That night, hours after the fireworks, I wake up in the dark, with Shane thrashing five feet away, and footsteps overhead from the night shift. A rising terror eats at me. All I can imagine is closing my eyes and succumbing to a void that never lets me wake up. Or worse, waking up to the awareness of being in a coma, my body a tomb encasing my mind.

  I second-guess every conversation I’ve had recently. I should’ve convinced Mom to take more time for herself. I have to make Evie realize she has the courage I’ve always dreamed of. Sammy needs to understand he’s already made an indelible mark, way beyond his artwork. Does Jack know how much I appreciate him looking past the incredibly awkward girl I’d been and wanting to hang out anyway? I mentally list the things I’ll say tomorrow, which could be the last time I speak to the people I love if the CZ88 is lying in wait. It’s an unnerving way to live. Or die.

  But I wake up the next morning. Dr. Culdicott doesn’t yield on the symptom-free threshold, but she doesn’t deny it either. I chat with Sammy and Mom, who cuts me off whenever I mention the AV719 trial. The third time I bring it up, Sammy asks to chat with Shane. Fine. As long as Shane doesn’t try to give him dating advice.

  Speaking of dating, this is my chance for pseudo-privacy. I open a chat with Jack.

  He greets me with pool-reddened eyes from his morning swim. I can almost smell the chlorine on him. God, I yearn to be close enough to smell him, period. And touch him. My skin tingles with the hope of feeling his fingers run along it again someday.

  I twist the cover sheet into a rope as I update him. “Everyone we so much as sneezed on hasn’t shown the virus in their bloodstream. As long as we don’t share needles or anything, no one else will get this.” Saying the words, I wonder if he speculates upon the “or anything” part as much as I do.

  His face gets closer, as if he can read my desire. “An ACLU lawyer talked about you guys on the radio’s interview show yesterday. There are laws on your side. And this sounds like it might be a similar transmission to HIV.”

  I hold my breath. “Does that scare you?”

  He swallows, glances away and then back at me. “I just want to be with you, Aislyn. We can wait for, uh, things until you’re cured.”

  I run a finger along the edge of the computer. “Dr. Gordon keeps warning us we’re safer here than out there.” I sigh. “Got the contact info for that ACLU lawyer?”

  He sends it after our chat and Shane and I call her immediately to present our situation. She accepts our case on the spot, pro bono.

  Afterward, Shane and I plop side by side on the middle bed, our hangout, and he picks up the TV remote. We limit our news consumption so we can sleep at night, but it’s impossible to avoid the CZ88 death tolls and coma counts that bombard us.

  He clicks around the stations, unable to resist pausing when he runs across another story on Nova Genetics, this time featuring a middle-aged woman who looks a lot like Dr. Sternfield. It’s her mother, Sheyla Sternfield. Apparently Dr. Sternfield was given, or chose to take, her mother’s name.

  Sheyla Sternfield addresses the camera with a hard, clear gaze. “My daughter never would have committed such a desperate act if she hadn’t been hounded. I hope you’ll at least leave her memory in peace.”

  Something about her demeanor seems off, something I can’t place. Maybe I expect more signs of grief. My eyes tear up at the prospect of my own mom having to mourn.

  “Want me to switch the channel?” Shane asks.

  “No. Something about her expression doesn’t seem right.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I see a certain something too. God, if we ever get out of here, think of the party tricks we could do.”

  It’s not like we can read minds; it’s more a matter of being really, really perceptive to people’s expressions, which is probably part of what being sociable entails. Thank you, dearly departed Dr. Sternfield.

  I say, “Think her mom’s coldness turned Dr. Sternfield into a mad scientist?”

  He grunts. “It would take more than that. Besides, Dr. Gordon seem
s decent. Both parents make their dent on the kids.”

  I chew my lip, not sure how to reply.

  His eyes show sudden awareness. “Oh, sorry.” He lays his hands flat on his thighs. “Not trying to be nosy, but what happened to your dad, anyway?”

  “Short story, a diving accident.” I glance at him.

  Shane squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry.”

  I nod, taking deep breaths that don’t get me as much air as I need.

  The next morning, Dr. Culdicott tells us that in her conference calls with the powers that be, no doubt egged on by a certain ACLU lawyer, the consensus was to make a list of criteria to release us.

  “Like what?” Shane asks.

  She counts off on her fingers. “Of course, your vitals must remain stable. And no other symptoms, such as fainting or ears ringing. It would be helpful to have a reliable test for CZ88 that’s more economical that what we’ve been doing. There’ll also be a psych eval to assess whether you would behave responsibly once you got out.”

  We nod. Shane better not mess things up for us.

  “Then, maybe, just maybe we’ll get the governor to lift the isolation order.” Before she leaves, Dr. Culdicott adds, “By the way, have you been in touch with other CZ88 patients? We’re trying to locate a young lady named Sophia Washington who’s gone missing from Seattle General.”

  I say, “She didn’t wait for the isolation restrictions to be lifted?” Maybe I should break out of here and holler at Mom until she changes her mind about Sammy’s trial.

  Dr. Culdicott’s eyes wrinkle behind her ever-present plastic shield. “Either that, or someone might have forced her to leave. There have been questionable folks loitering at hospitals with CZ88 patients.”

  An unsettling chill slides down my back. “Yeah, we read about those weirdoes who wanted to do an exorcism on the patients in LA. You think they went to Seattle?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. But no cause for alarm; we run a tight ship. No one gets in or out without permission.”

  So much for my escape plans.

  The next morning, I hear Shane talking to himself in the bathroom, which I tease him about when he gets out.

  “Just practicing for my interview. Gotta be believable.”

  I drop my breakfast fork. “You don’t have any symptoms, do you?”

  “No. But they might think we’re lying just to get out.”

  “Hmm. If we can convince each other of our truthfulness, we can pass the test with anyone.”

  We sit on my bed cross-legged, knee to knee, and stare into each other’s faces.

  Shane grins. “You first.”

  “Fine.” I close my eyes for a moment to cleanse my facial expressions. When I’m ready, I say, “I’m feeling absolutely no symptoms of CZ88 today.”

  He stares at me intently. “You’re telling the truth. Now, tell me a lie so I can calibrate.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a better test if I didn’t tell you up front whether I was lying?”

  “Fine.”

  I take another face-neutralizing breath and say, “When I first met you, I thought you were the biggest jackass.”

  He nods. “Easy. Truth.”

  “Now you seem halfway decent.”

  He squints. “I detect teeny-tiny twitching. You don’t think I’m halfway decent?”

  I glance downward, away from his hurt. “Okay, full disclosure. I think you’re more than halfway decent.”

  His smile brings out dimples. “Ah, there we go. Very truthful.”

  “Your turn.”

  He wipes his face. “When I first met you, I thought you had issues.”

  “I could’ve told you that without our face-reading abilities. Both that I had issues and that you thought so.”

  “Now I know you’re full of yourself.”

  I slap his arm. “Hah! Lie, lie, lie.”

  “Okay, how about this? I think you’re hot and sweet and I wish Jack loverboy were out of the picture so I could take his place.”

  I catch my breath. Everything on his face says he’s telling the truth, but I say, “Mostly lies.”

  Now his face reads embarrassment as he looks away. “Busted.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, we rehearse until we’re ready for the toughest cross-examination.

  That takes place the next day, with physicians, researchers, and psychologists. Afterward, Shane grumbles. “We should sue. They don’t make AIDS patients go through this crap before leaving a hospital.”

  “They understand exactly how AIDS is transmitted. For us, there’s still not enough data.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “We could provide them with some.”

  “Uh, not with each other, since we both already have it.”

  He runs a hand through his curls. “It sucks. This gene transfer has done the exact opposite of what Dr. Charlotte promised.”

  “Well, you’re nicer at least.”

  “Some good that’ll do me.” He slaps his bed. “Look, I know you’re all about loverboy. But there’s going to come a time when you both get frustrated by not being able to do anything about it.” He smiles. “So, you know what they say about being the last guy on earth?”

  I rest my hands on my lap and sigh. “Usually, it’s a hypothetical, as in, ‘I wouldn’t hook up with you even if you were the last guy on earth.’”

  “Yeah, well, reality might be different, just keep that in mind. I’m not half as bad as you thought. You said so.”

  I shrug. “Maybe impending death has a way of making us overlook obnoxious behavior.”

  He leans closer and lowers his voice. “What if this is our last chance?”

  I stare at his chiseled jaw, his glinting eyes, those white-white teeth. Everything about his demeanor reads as sincerity, not mocking. If I didn’t like Jack, would I go for Shane, now that I’ve seen his sweet side?

  I exhale. “Let’s hope for a cure soon, okay? After twelve full days of living with each other, hooking up with me would be like hooking up with your sister.”

  He whips a pillow at me. “Did you have to say that?”

  That launches us into pillow fight number two hundred and three.

  Dr. Culdicott arrives in her usual drill-sergeant fashion, shoulders back, chin up. However, for the first time since Rosa’s death, she isn’t wearing the gas mask and spacesuit. It’s weird to see another human face uncovered besides Shane’s. She isn’t smiling exactly, but she doesn’t have the lined forehead I’ve become used to.

  She clears her throat. “We’re letting you go.”

  Oh my God, if I race, I could take Sammy to wherever the AV719 trial’s taking place. It starts today.

  She continues, “Tomorrow.”

  All my jubilation explodes. “Oh, please make it today. My brother has to get into a clinical trial and I’m the only one willing to fight for it. Please, Dr. Culdicott.”

  “I’m sorry, Aislyn. Multiple state health departments are coordinating on a press release to deal with the hysteria that’s bound to arise from some factions. This is as fast as it goes.”

  “Can’t you make an exception?”

  “None of us can. Tomorrow it is. Besides, if your mother wanted your brother in a research trial, he’d be there.” Her gaze is stony.

  After she leaves, I’m as downtrodden as if she’d told us we couldn’t leave. My mood only darkens when Mom calls that evening and tries to make nice. “Even if you hadn’t accepted the CZ88, others would’ve and my decision would be the same. I’m not signing up my kid for something with so many unknowns.”

  “But the prelim study had amazing results. You’d have to be crazy not to jump on this.”

  “No. Crazy would be taking . . . Look, we should be celebrating your release, not fighting.”

  “I just don’t u
nderstand why you’re giving up on Sammy.”

  She shrieks, “Giving up? How can you say that? How?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t have any idea what’s going through your mind, if I ever did.”

  I sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.” I hang up, exhausted.

  Shane plops next to me. “She’s been through a lot.”

  “So have we.” I lean my head on his shoulder for a long time.

  Then I get up to call Dr. Gordon and try to convince him to let me know where exactly the trial is taking place. But he’s as stubborn as Mom.

  The next day, Dr. Culdicott’s parting words to Shane and me are: “Should you feel light-headed or feverish, experience ringing in the ears, or any other CZ88 symptoms, you’ll need to come back immediately.”

  Shane and I blink at each other. It’s really happening. A day late, but happening. And maybe when I’m home and Mom sees how good I feel, she’ll change her mind about Sammy. Then we can convince the researchers to let Sammy join the trial late. Getting out of here means getting back into the world, fighting for what I want.

  Dr. Culdicott shakes our hands. “Your families will be here soon. Then it’s time to get back to normal.”

  Normal. I sigh. Nothing ever sounded so extraordinary.

  And They’re Out!

  by Lulu Lakes for In the Know

  Despite the outcry from panicked citizens, six hospitals in Washington State and California released eleven patients who contracted the CZ88 virus, either directly as part of an illegal gene treatment or by being infected by someone who was. This release occurs despite the seventeen patients who’ve died and 112 who remain in comas. State health departments in the three other states with CZ88 patients have refused to lift their isolation orders as yet.

  Dr. Dean Presley of California Medical Center states, “In those cases where we’ve been able to identify person-to-person transmission, it was caused by either shared needles or unprotected sexual contact. There is no reason for alarm if risky behavior is avoided.”