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  The In the Know website (www.NowYouKnow Too.com) will be continuously updated with health alerts and pinpoint maps of the areas affected by CZ88.

  Of course, normal is relative. How could my life be routine when Rosa and sixteen others are gone forever, and my own health could go down the sewer at any moment, thanks to an evil doctor I hope is writhing in the afterlife?

  So, normal is in the realm of a fantasy.

  Mom and Sammy race in to hug me tightly. We stay that way for a long time.

  Finally, when we break away, Mom says in my ear, “We will not discuss the AV719 trial. Period.” Sammy bounces and chatters with such glee that I go along with Mom’s terms. For now.

  We sneak past reams of reporters as we drive away from the hospital. At home, where the reporters haven’t converged yet, Mom claws toward the fantasy of normal with freshly baked cookies and a cookout planned for tonight. Outside, the weather is as perfectly summery as Tacoma gets, as if Mom special-ordered that as well.

  I park myself next to an open window in the living room, unwilling to be by myself yet, and lean into sofa cushions that smell faintly of Mom’s Moroccan oil. Every piece of furniture, every knickknack, every aroma I haven’t noticed for years now strikes me as reassuring, embracing me back into a reality I thought I’d lost. A reality I still could lose.

  As much as I hate to sour the moment, I say, “Mom, we have to talk about the AV719 trial before it’s too late.”

  Her eyes glint and she takes a stance between me and Sammy. “You will not convince me to submit my son to a drug that hasn’t been thoroughly vetted. So stop it, Aislyn. Stop it.” Her whole body trembles and her eyes are red.

  Sammy hugs her from behind. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m not doing it.”

  I feel like an intruder. Even though I know I’m right, it’s obvious Mom’s hanging on by threads. But I can’t look at her without wanting to scream about AV719.

  I say, “Think I’ll go for a swim before the cookout.”

  Mom sighs. “Aislyn, slow down. Take some time to reacclimate.”

  Doesn’t she realize that waiting is a luxury for people with time? Trying to swallow my frustration, I say, “I need to talk to Janie about getting back to work. I want to be able to help out around here.” Before anyone can argue me out of it, I run upstairs for my swimsuit and convince Sammy to do the same.

  Minutes later, we’re back downstairs. Mom stands there, bewildered and a touch angry. Boy, this face-reading ability is even more effective in person. I say, “You want to come with us?”

  That softens her some. “No, thanks. Just don’t be gone too long.”

  “Just a quick dip and then we’ll help you prep for the cookout. See you in an hour.” When I start bringing home a paycheck, I’m sure her mood will brighten. With my improved people skills, maybe Janie’ll give me extra shifts.

  The wind whips through Sammy’s and my hair as I drive. Sammy warns me to slow down.

  “I’m not even five miles over the limit, buddy.”

  “Not all of us are risk takers, I guess.” There’s an edge to his voice.

  I tap the brake. “Sorry.” I try to read him further, but he turns toward the window. “You know I argued with Mom on the phone about letting you into the AV719 trial. And I’m not going to give up. We should coordinate our attack.”

  “It’s too late. They’ve already started. Anyway, Mom said no, remember?”

  “But—”

  “Shut it, Aislyn. Seriously.”

  I freeze. He’s never spoken to me that way before. “If that’s what you want.” It can’t be, really. Mom must’ve scared him good.

  After a silent ride to the pool, my legs itch to run to the gate, but within a minute Sammy’s huffing. I slow down and say, “You know, we can go right back home after I talk to Janie, if you want.”

  His shoulders straighten. “Are you kidding? I haven’t been to the pool all summer.”

  Poor kid’s been cooped up as much as I have. We’ll have to fix that.

  I wave to Heath, who’s on gate duty. His eyes widen. In what, shock or fear?

  “Is Janie around?” I ask.

  He backs away. “Uh, yeah. Over there.” His voice is funny, as if he’s holding his breath. He must be reading too many of those trash blogs that paint CZ88 victims as something between zombies and vampires.

  I spot Janie at the picnic tables chewing out a kid for feeding crows. When she sees me, she startles. Her too? I think I preferred being invisible to scaring folks.

  She leads me to an empty patch of grass. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

  “I’m feeling great. As soon as you put me on the schedule, I’ll come back to work.”

  She appears unsure of what to say, totally unlike her. “Uh, Aislyn, we hired someone else.”

  Of course, life moved on without me. “Well, I can fill in when anyone’s sick, just like they filled in for me.”

  She shakes her head. “Do you know how many parents called, in tears because you worked here before you went to the hospital? No, we just can’t risk it.”

  “Are you serious? If what I have were transmitted that easily, someone else would’ve gotten sick already.” No need to tell her I kissed Jack and he’s fine.

  Her neck tightens. “People are cautious, especially when it comes to their kids. So, until further notice, you and your family can’t come to the pool.”

  “Wait, my whole family’s banned?”

  She glances Sammy’s way as she crosses her leathery arms. “I’m sorry, but unless a doctor can assure us it’s one hundred percent safe and sign a liability waiver, that’s how it has to be.”

  Fat chance any doctor is going to do that. I remember little Molly, so scared of the water. And now, even more scared of me, the pariah. I grab Sammy’s elbow. “Sorry, buddy. You heard her.”

  We march out. Sammy tries to play it down on the way home, but there’s resentment again in his face.

  When we explain the situation to Mom, she sighs. “Just give them a chance to get used to things.” She abruptly hugs me, doing a noble job of pretending not to be afraid of my germs.

  I swallow. “But there has to be a way I can help out. You know, before I went to the hospital, a few advertisers offered to pay me for promos on my web page. I’m not sure they’d still want me and it doesn’t seem right to profit from CZ88, but . . .”

  She shakes her head sharply despite the desperation steaming off her skin. My coming home shouldn’t strain her so much. I stifle a frustrated scream.

  The house phone rings. Sammy grabs it. “She’s not talking to reporters.” He hangs up and disconnects the phone from the outlet. “Time to change the number again.”

  Great, more hassle for my family. For the thousandth time, I say, “Sorry, guys.”

  “Don’t be. That reminds me.” Mom strolls toward the kitchen and returns, holding out my phone. “Freshly charged.”

  I text Jack and Evie, reminding them I’m home, even while part of me fears what I’ll see on their faces, assuming they come here.

  Jack responds, HEADING OVER.

  My breath catches. He still wants to be with me, in person. Yes, yes, yes. I should’ve counted on him being too smart to listen to all the fear-mongers.

  My skin tingles with the thought of being with him so soon. I run upstairs to freshen up. After almost two weeks in sweats, I dig through my dresser for a fitted shirt and shorts.

  When the bell rings, I hurry down and call out, “I’ll get it.” I take a deep breath and whip open the door.

  And there’s Jack, my delicious golden guy.

  My body feels floaty. “Hey.”

  Yet there’s a hesitation before we hug. I try to assure myself it’s to be expected. My eyes prickling, I inhale his scent—beach and sunshine. Oh man, he feels so warm and alive. I could sta
y like this until my insides melt.

  And then I hear clicking.

  Peering over Jack’s shoulder, I spot two guys with cameras. I pull Jack inside and slam the door.

  Mom frowns as I turn the dead bolt and hiss, “Reporters.”

  She rushes to the window and peers through the blinds. “They’re not on our property, so there’s not much we can do.” She strides from window to window shutting the blinds. Jack and I help her.

  I crave privacy, but I’m not letting those jerks trap me inside. “We’re going out back.”

  Mom’s face gets pinched. “They’ll come around and spot you over the hedges.”

  I move toward the kitchen to pour a couple glasses of grape juice. “Hopefully not right away.”

  Jack and I head out back, craning our necks to make sure no cameras lurk beyond the shrubbery. Satisfied the coast is clear, we settle onto the swing.

  He sets his glass on the ground. “Try not to spill anything on me, okay?” Was it only three weeks since we sat on another patio at that disastrous end-of-school-year party?

  I laugh. “I’m not the same Aislyn who did that.”

  We both stop short. It’s true in a way. I can’t be the same. Not with all this weird DNA in my system.

  He grabs my hand. “You’re the same in ways it counts.”

  I’d love to know which ways those are, exactly. But I simply thank him and push my foot against the ground to start up the swing.

  We sit turned in toward each other. Even though it feels a bit like cheating, I try to read his expressions with my new extra-observant abilities. At the same time, I appreciate his strong cheekbones and jaw, and how his skin’s tanned golden brown. Only then do I notice the anxiety and concern in those endlessly blue eyes.

  He lays his arm along the seat’s back. Taking a chance, I lay mine along his, warm skin against warm skin. His flinch is almost imperceptible. Almost. But he keeps his arm next to mine.

  “Still no leads on a cure?” he asks.

  “They’re pretty sure about the virus, the same one they tested you for. And the altered genes the virus carried. Now they’ve got to figure out how to halt the virus and reverse the gene modifications.”

  His voice is soft. “You sure you’re still contagious?”

  “I promised a lot of people I wouldn’t take chances.”

  He grabs my hand and leans so close I can feel the heat coming off of him, then he pulls me forward so my face rests on his chest. I could cry at how right it feels to let myself nestle against this welcoming body, molded perfectly against mine. He kisses my hair, which sends tingles from my scalp on downward. My insides can’t decide between melting and combusting when he rests a hand on my bare thigh. Oh, if the CZ88 doesn’t kill me, this “only friends” stuff will.

  But the thought of the danger I could put him into if we go any further causes me to pull back with a start. “We shouldn’t even tempt ourselves.”

  His eyes are glazed. “You want me to leave?”

  I play with the neckline of my shirt. “Of course not. Just try not to be so, um, irresistible.”

  He laughs. “Then stop tugging at your shirt.”

  I do, and halt the swing with a heel to the ground. “This whole thing is so crazy.”

  He only bites his lip in response. Too sweet to state the obvious. Of course it’s crazy, and it’s all my fault.

  Clicking sounds come from over the hedge. Hell. The reporters have found us.

  One yells, “Aislyn, does your boyfriend have it too? Did you give it to him?”

  Jack and I rush inside, leaving behind our juice glasses.

  Mom’s in the kitchen washing vegetables. In the background, she has the TV tuned to a program about a good scientist gone bad: Dr. Charlotte Sternfield.

  Mom grabs a towel. “Sorry. I’ll change it.”

  I hold her arm. “No, I want to see this.”

  The footage pans across photos of a little girl with a shy smile. Her gap-toothed school pictures juxtapose with statements from teachers and professors who’d been awed by this science prodigy. The video clips of praise are replaced with condemnation by protesters who accuse her of playing God, or worse, Satan. Are these the so-called persecutors who pressured her into doing the unthinkable?

  The show moves to an interview with Dr. Sternfield’s mother. What is this, posthumous spin control? I stare into the cold, flat eyes of Sheyla Sternfield, trying to figure out whether they scarred her daughter enough to pursue her ambitions at all costs.

  Mrs. Sternfield berates the media once again, claiming her Charlotte had been a “good girl.” I study the woman’s facial expressions, once again struck by how odd they are. It’s then I realize the head-shaking and fidgeting aren’t because she’s distracted or doesn’t care. That isn’t it at all. Rather, she speaks well-rehearsed lines that ring completely false.

  I step forward, mesmerized. Oh my God. The floor seems to buckle at my feet.

  My pulse hammers. “She’s lying.”

  Jack squints. “Lying? About what?”

  An excellent question. “I don’t know. But it’s something important.” Something I need to know. I feel it to my marrow.

  I say, “See how she keeps touching her nose and mouth? She’s not telling the truth, and I’ll bet anything it has to do with the reason for Dr. Sternfield’s death.”

  Mom puts down the towel. “Honey, I know the doctor’s death was very upsetting. But we can’t dwell on it. And no one should evaluate a grieving mother’s words.”

  Well, I will. Because I know those words are BS. But I can’t admit that because I haven’t disclosed my newfound face-reading talent to anyone but Shane. Why freak out the people we love with one more thing, or, worse, make them feel self-conscious around us? I wring my hands. “I just want to make sure no one overlooks anything.”

  Mom says, “We all want that, sweetie. The researchers at Nova Genetics and the CDC are working tirelessly on a cure. That’s where we have to put our faith.”

  I pick up on Mom’s emotions. She’s desperate to believe in the science that might cure me. And she needs to deal with the rage she feels against Dr. Sternfield.

  For Mom’s sake, I say, “Okay.”

  But my rage has only been relit. As I hack apart the bell peppers, I’m surer than anything I need to talk to Dr. Sternfield’s mother, and uncover whatever she hiding. Is it possible Dr. Sternfield left behind crucial data that her mother’s sitting on to prevent further trashing of her daughter’s memory? Or maybe it’s data that’s being secretly auctioned to the highest bidder, like a news organization or pharmaceutical company. Okay, this is far-fetched, but finding out any detail I can about the woman who ruined so many lives is a mystery that must be solved.

  There’s no time to do anything about this now. Mom’s admitted that she asked Evie to bring “guests.” Jack, Sammy, and I set out plates, cups, and napkins as the doorbell rings.

  Mom lets in Abby and a few girls from swim team. Evie’s right behind them with Rafe. It’s far fewer than were invited, yet far more than I expected. My guests bring flowers, food, and faces that twitch with anxiety.

  I don’t want to test their friendship by trying to hug them, the only exception being Evie, who hugs me first, while the others watch bug-eyed. Thank God for Evie.

  We cluster in my living room, soon chatting and joking as if I didn’t have a potentially fatal disease. In fact, they have a million questions about my stay in the hospital and the other kids who’ve been profiled on the news, especially Shane. Yeah, everyone stays two arm-lengths away, but they’re drawn to what I have to say. It’s bizarre. Well, bizarre is an appropriate way to describe my life these days.

  I settle into my sofa like a queen, telling my story. They hang on to my every word. That part’s still a rush at least.

  Mom makes herself busy in th
e kitchen, waving off anyone who tries to help her. “You kids just have fun.” Every time I glance her way, she’s smiling big. Sadly, I realize this is the type of event she always hoped to host for me, under much different circumstances. And there’s a pulling at her eyes that tells me her worries over my health are simmering nonstop. I want to kick myself for giving her another kid with a life-threatening condition.

  The doorbell rings again. I jump to answer it before Mom. On the porch hovers a skinny guy wearing a black hoodie with a skeleton on the sleeve. He smiles crookedly. “We heard this is where the fun is.” Unlike my friends, he leans in like he wants to get up close and personal.

  I wedge my body behind the door. “Actually, it’s private.”

  He grins in a way that makes me want to shower, and holds up a six-pack of beer. “We brought provisions.”

  “Maybe some other time?” Some other lifetime.

  He winks. “I’ll hold you to that, precious.”

  I slam the door and bolt it. Eww, weird.

  “Hey, let’s go out back,” Abby hollers.

  Fresh air sounds great even if it comes with reporters. Well, maybe if we show them that life goes on as usual, they’ll get bored and leave me alone. Maybe.

  We gather on the patio and try to ignore the cameras and faces that immediately pop over the shrubbery. Since I live on the corner, the reporters have an expanded view.

  Evie’s unfazed. She takes off her shirt to reveal a cherry-red bikini top. “You all brought swimsuits, like I told you to, right? Time for Sammy’s super slide.”

  Sammy, who’s still in his swim trunks from our failed pool attempt, hoots as he unrolls a huge plastic mat and hooks it up to the hose. Well, if the pool won’t let us in, it doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the water. More evidence for the reporters of Aislyn living normally.

  Within minutes, everyone’s ready to slide, but they seem to be waiting for me to go first. Starting at the far end of the yard, I jog and, with a prayer to the water-toy gods, plop onto the mat in a sideways slide. Whooshing to the end, I get up, laughing.

  I stand there waiting for the next person to go, but no one makes a move. Are they afraid I contaminated the slide somehow? A sinking feeling fills my gut.