Lena.” Alex’s voice is stronger, more forceful now, and it finally stops me.
He turns so that we’re face-to-face. At that moment my shoes skim off the sand
bottom, and I realize that the water is lapping up to my neck. The tide is coming
in fast. “Listen to me. I’m not who—I’m not who you think I am.”
I have to fight to stand. All of a sudden the currents tug and pull at me. It’s
always seemed this way. The tide goes out a slow drain, comes back in a rush.
“What do you mean?”
His eyes—shifting gold, amber, an animal’s eyes—search my face, and
without knowing why, I’m scared again. “I was never cured,” he says. For a
moment I close my eyes and imagine I’ve misheard him, imagine I’ve only
confused the shushing of the waves for his voice. But when I open my eyes he’s
still standing there, staring at me, looking guilty and something else—sad,
maybe?—and I know I heard correctly. He says, “I never had the procedure.”
“You mean it didn’t work?” I say. My body is tingling, going numb, and I
realize then how cold it is. “You had the procedure and it didn’t work? Like what
happened to my mom?”
“No, Lena. I—” He looks away, squinting, says under his breath, “I don’t
know how to explain.

Author: Lauren Oliver