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  She led the way to her room. Martin followed a few steps behind, giving her some space. She sat down on her bed. A hospital bed. The same pink flamingo Pottery Barn quilt might be on the beds of half the teenage girls in America, but it didn’t hide the metal bars.

  “Stretch out, and we’ll get you started in a minute,” Martin instructed.

  Shay obediently lay down and stared up at the ceiling. There were new pictures taped up there. Her mom’s handiwork. She was always doing little things like that for Shay. She’d even put up one of the new Calvin Klein underwear ads. Mom’s really my best friend, she thought. She’s the one who knows absolutely everything about me.

  She knew way too much, actually. Shay spent so much time at home that sometimes it felt like her mother knew her better than she herself did. It was nice, kind of. But it definitely contributed to the sucking-the-air-out-of-her-lungs phenomenon.

  Think about the guy in the picture, she told herself. It was the ritual she’d had since she was fourteen, although back then she’d been looking at posters of her celeb crush of the moment. It didn’t work so well anymore. She felt a little pathetic fantasizing about an imaginary guy.

  Maybe I should just think about Chris Briglia instead, she thought.

  “Ready?” Martin asked.

  Shay hadn’t even heard him come back in, wheeling the IV pole over to the side of her bed.

  “Yeah, ready.” Shay turned her head aside. Even after all these years, she didn’t like to watch the needle pierce her skin.

  Shay looked over at the thin tube snaking from the bag on the IV pole to the needle in her arm. The blood looked the same as it usually did—a rich, deep red. But the sensation of the blood entering her, it was like nothing Shay had ever experienced. Her heart thudded hard, as if to urge the new blood through her body. She wanted to feel it everywhere. Her cheeks flushed as the warm liquid hit the capillaries of her face.

  The room swirled around her, and Shay tasted the blood on her tongue. Slightly salty, almost sweet. She wanted more. She bit deeper with her fangs, sucking on the nectar.

  Fangs. Wait. What? Shay’s thoughts felt strange, strange and wrong, as if someone were shouting them at her from far away.

  Under her hands, the Giver twitched, wanting to escape, but without the strength. Shay was much too powerful for him. And she wasn’t done drinking, not nearly done. The blood, warm and silky, slid down her throat, and with it, all the emotion the Giver had experienced in his life. Shay pulled him closer.

  No … That’s not me. Not …

  The fear and love and jealousy and hate and anger and passion bolting through her blotted out her own, already faint, thoughts. Every neuron in her body was lighting up. She could actually feel the individual molecules of blood popping through her veins. And the emotion—she wanted to laugh, and cry, and scream all at once.

  She slid her hands along the Giver’s body. She needed to feel skin. She needed to touch. Her fingers were alive with sensation—the soft skin of the Giver’s neck, contrasting with the calloused skin of his elbow.

  The smells were distinct and almost intoxicating in their intensity—pungent sweat mixed with the odor of the sandy dirt under the Giver’s nails, lamb fat from the meal the youth had eaten several hours ago, and the fruity odor of the wine that had accompanied the meal. Nearby grew a patch of thyme and farther away a cedar grove, and their tangy scents floated by on the breeze.

  Still, everything Shay experienced was secondary to the warmth and taste of the blood. The food and wine from the Giver’s meal were reflected in the taste. She tasted salt, too, as well as iron and other minerals she couldn’t identify.

  “Enough, Gabriel! Enough!” someone ordered.

  Automatically, Shay glanced in the direction from which the voice had come. She saw a silver-haired man at the top of the hill, holding aloft a torch. Even without the fire, she could have seen him clearly. The stars were so bright she could see every leaf on the oak tree to her left, every pebble on the ground, every line in Ernst’s face.

  Ernst? Shay’s thought was fleeting, confused. But I’ve never seen that man before. Yet at the same time, he was as familiar to her as Olivia, or Martin, or her mother.

  “Let him go. You’ve near drained him,” Ernst called. Shay obediently, but reluctantly, released the Giver. The youth crumpled to the earth, his red hair forming slashes across his pale, pale face.

  What did I do? What was …

  Shay stared at the unconscious boy, hyper-aware of his blood dripping from the corners of her mouth. She slid out her tongue and licked it away. More. She wanted more.

  “Gabriel, come. Now.”

  Again, Shay obeyed. She ran down the street after Ernst, the muscles in her legs contracting and releasing with each long stride. She was fast. God, she was fast, her heart and lungs engines that could beat and pump away forever.

  This was incredible. She could feel the wind slapping against her cheeks, blowing through her collar-length hair.

  But her hair was long. And it was pulled back in a French braid.

  Shay ignored the thought. It was easy. It had nothing to do with her. All she cared about was the strong, steady thudding of her heart, the impact of her feet on the dirt, the glistening stars over her head, and the blood … all that fresh blood ripping through her.

  Except I’m inside; there are no stars. And I can’t run like that. My body couldn’t take it.

  “All done,” Martin announced.

  Shay blinked as he slid the needle out of her vein, then taped a cotton ball over the tiny wound.

  “Shay? You okay?” Martin’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.

  “Yeah. I’m good, actually. I feel good,” Shay replied slowly. When was the last time she had felt good? Had she ever? Her body still felt the way it had in the vision. If that’s what it had been … a vision. Or had she fallen asleep? Was it a dream? Whatever it was had affected her entire body, every one of her senses.

  Martin placed two fingers on her wrist, then looked down at his watch as he checked her pulse. Shay raised her eyebrows, asking a silent question. “Excellent,” Martin said. “This afternoon you have the pulse of a marathon runner.” So his results matched what she was feeling. She felt like a marathon runner right this moment, except for the lying in a hospital bed part.

  He released her, then started to push the IV pole out of the room. They kept it in the hall closet. Keeping it in Shay’s room was way too big a reminder—for them all—of what her life was like. “Your mom will be in with your juice.”

  The way Shay felt, fetching the juice from the kitchen herself would be no problem. Don’t let some freaky dream make you think you’re Supergirl instead of Sickgirl, Shay cautioned herself. But she eased herself out of bed and onto her feet, just to see how she did.

  And she did fine. No head rush. No heart flutter. No cold extremities. She headed down the hall, ready to lean against the wall if she had to. But she didn’t. Her legs didn’t tremble as she walked. Her knees didn’t go Jell-O.

  No transfusion had ever made her feel like this. Martin said he was tweaking it, but still … It was more like the strength and power she’d felt in that strange, amazing vision had stayed with her when she’d woken up. Woken up. Is that what had happened? Because then what she ’d seen would have been a dream, not a vision. But a dream couldn’t have tastes and smells that were so, so real. At least no dream Shay had ever had.

  Maybe some new component in the transfusion had given her a hallucination. Maybe she’d been on some kind of drug trip. Or—

  “Shay, get back in bed,” her mother exclaimed from the kitchen, practically dropping the juice bottle when she spotted Shay.

  “I’m fine. I’ll get the juice myself.” Shay pulled open the cabinet and stood on tiptoe to reach a glass.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good—” her mother began.

  “Mom, please!” Shay snapped. “You know I like doing things myself when I can,” she added more gent
ly.

  Her mother nodded. She put the juice bottle on the counter and headed for the living room.

  Shay wished she had something more exciting to use her strength on, wherever it had come from. Something way better than—whoa, hold on there, tiger—getting herself a glass of juice.

  Something like … Kaz’s party.

  She poured her juice and pulled open the refrigerator door. The cool air fanned across her flushed face. She shoved the bottle onto the top shelf, but her eyes went straight to the bottom. Should she? Could she?

  Yeah. There was no party she could go to right now. No boy to kiss. But she could have a beer. Her first beer ever. How insane was that? She was seventeen years old, for God ’s sake.

  Shay wrapped her fingers around a bottle of Duvel, the Amsterdam brew Martin went for. He was a best-of-everything guy—even though sometimes Shay thought it was more about status than about what he truly enjoyed. She got the bottle opener and took off the top. Then she hesitated.

  Self-check, she thought. I need to do it. Just to be sure.

  She took her pulse. Normal. No, make that slow and low. No sweaty upper lip. She pressed her hand against her forehead. No fever. No nausea. Inside her chest, her heart beat calm and steady.

  She had no idea how long this amazing feeling would last. She had to hurry.

  Shay grinned. Then took a swig of the beer. A long swig. It tasted fine.

  It tasted a million times better than pomegranate juice.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  “WEEKEND!” KAZ YELLED, practically throwing himself into the cafeteria seat across from Shay.

  “Not for another three hours,” she said.

  “Yeah, I have to endure P.E. before I’m officially happy it’s Friday,” Olivia grumbled. “I hate getting sweaty for no good reason.”

  “It is a good reason. Healthy for Life!” Shay said, before Kaz could make the obvious filthy joke. The cartoon apple that appeared on every classroom poster about eating right and exercise always said, “Healthy for Life!” That apple had been with them since first grade, and Shay had always felt it was mocking her.

  “Easy for you to say, you never have to go to gym,” Olivia said.

  “Liv. Jesus.” Kaz shook his head, and Olivia looked stricken.

  “I don’t mean it’s fun for you or anything,” she added in a rush.

  “Chill,” Shay told her. “You’re allowed to be bitchy to me. I won’t be scarred for life.” She took a bite of the turkey sandwich her mother still sent her to school with every day. “In fact, maybe I’ll come with you today.” So far, the energy from her transfusion hadn’t faded.

  “To gym?” Olivia frowned. “Why?”

  “I feel strong.” Shay grabbed one of Kaz’s fries and popped it in her mouth. She never ate anything fried. Never ate anything that tasted good, was more like it. Martin’s self-checks included food checks, too. Iron, protein, iron, protein, it was like his mantra.

  “The gym teacher won’t even know who you are,” Olivia said.

  “So? They can’t stop me from going.”

  “Yeah, but why would you? Hanging out in study hall can’t be that bad.” There was an edge to Olivia’s voice that was starting to grate on Shay. As if hanging out in study hall was a vacation, not a punishment. As if Shay’s life was somehow better than everyone else’s just because she didn’t have to go to stupid gym class.

  “Do you have some sweats I can borrow?” she asked.

  “Shay, you are not serious.” Olivia sounded disgusted. “Just ’cause you feel strong doesn’t mean you should act like an idiot. Two days ago you collapsed walking down the hall. You wouldn’t last a minute in P.E.”

  Fine. Someone else will have clothes to lend me, Shay thought. Nobody ever said no when she asked for a favor. And now that Olivia was acting all momlike about it, Shay was determined to go to P.E.

  “You ready for the party?” she asked, turning to Kaz.

  “Mostly. I’m still trying to figure out how to smuggle in booze. My mom promised to stay upstairs, but I know she’s gonna do beer checks.” Kaz pushed his tray closer so she could grab another fry.

  “We’ll just have to spike the OJ or something,” Shay said. “Or, wait, what about a watermelon filled with vodka? I read about that once.”

  “Nice! I didn’t even think of that.” Kaz grinned. “I love vodka fruit!”

  Shay smiled back, but she felt stupid. She’d read about vodka fruit, but of course Kaz—and Olivia, and probably everyone else in school—had actually had vodka fruit before.

  “Martin has a bottle of bacon-infused vodka in the freezer. I can snag it,” she offered.

  “Bacon infused?” Olivia wrinkled her nose.

  “He got it as a birthday present from one of the researchers he used to work with. Scientists get up to some weirdness in the lab, apparently,” Shay explained.

  “I don’t think bacon and watermelon will taste very good together,” Kaz joked. “But are you really coming to my party?”

  “Of course. I’m not going to miss your eighteenth,” she said.

  “Shay, the party doesn’t even start until nine. You’ll be in bed,” Olivia pointed out.

  “You know what, Liv? I don’t actually have a bedtime,” Shay snapped. She didn’t usually use her friend’s nickname. It was too ironic—the terminal girl with the friend called Liv. “I’ll be there,” she added firmly.

  Olivia’s face was already changing, her brow furrowing in concern, her eyes wide, her mouth opening to apologize. Shay jumped up so fast that her lunch bag toppled over from the movement.

  “Shay—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” she mumbled. She grabbed her insulated bag, with her uneaten healthy lunch, and dumped it in the trash can on her way out of the cafeteria. I don’t want to hear it again, she mentally corrected herself. The worry, the embarrassment, the I’m-so-sorry-I-didn’t-mean-to-offend-you words that were never really anything more than Olivia covering her ass after she’d slipped and actually treated Shay like a human being.

  It was quiet in the hallway; the period wouldn’t end for another ten minutes. Shay turned toward the library, not knowing where else to go. She’d never walked out on anyone before and she was kind of surprised that Olivia hadn’t come running after her.

  “Hi, Shay!” the hall monitor, Mr. Roque, called.

  “Hi.” She didn’t need to give him an excuse for wandering around during class time. He wouldn’t dare question the sickie. It’s weird, Shay thought. Why do they all assume that being sick means being good? For all Roque knew, she was heading off to start a fire or pop some oxy in the bathroom.

  Instead, she went to the library just like she’d planned. It was pathetic, but true: She had no idea what kind of trouble there was to get into or how to get into it.

  “Feeling okay, Shay?” Mrs. Boutry, the librarian, asked.

  “I feel terrific, actually,” she said. “My new treatment is unbelievable.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Boutry didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. “Well … fantastic!”

  Shay matched her big smile. “I know!”

  She dumped her bag on one of the study tables and headed down the nonfiction aisle, past all the old copies of books on ancient Egypt—an obsession of hers from two years ago—past the random selection of biographies … to the science shelves.

  Was it science, to have strange visions during a transfusion? Or was it science fiction? Shay had never gotten a vision before that transfusion on Wednesday, so maybe it was just a fluke. She pulled out a book on near-death experiences—those people always seemed to have visions, right?

  “Shay?” Mrs. Boutry’s voice was high-pitched now, frightened. Shay turned to find the librarian behind her in the aisle.

  “Yeah?” she asked, confused. And then she got it: Mrs. Boutry was staring at the book in her hands. “Oh! I’m actually looking for something about visions, um, psychosomatic visions, I think,” she said quic
kly.

  “I’m sorry?” Mrs. Boutry blinked in confusion.

  “Medically induced visions, heightened imagination, that kind of thing …” Shay’s words trailed off. She was never going to convince this woman that she wasn’t looking at death books because she was going to be dead soon. Shay sighed. Clearly, a visit to the school psychologist would be in her future. “I had a weird reaction to my last treatment,” she said.

  Mercifully, the bell rang before Mrs. Boutry could ask if it had led to a near-death experience. Shay shoved the book back onto the shelf and edged past the librarian. “Gotta go. Can’t be late for gym,” she muttered.

  Shay didn’t bother going to study hall to tell the teacher. It was officially her PE period, so what if she’d never once set foot in a gym class? She was going.

  But the hall was unfamiliar. She’d never been to the girls’ locker room, and the only times she’d been in the gym itself were for pep rallies, which, given how lame Black River’s football team was, didn’t happen too often. Shay’s heart began to pound as she turned down the small corridor that led to the athletic rooms, and she had to read the signs on each door—weight room, exercise studio, pool—before she found the locker room. Shay took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Olivia had been complaining about the locker room ever since middle school. Back then, it had sounded like girls spent the whole time comparing their breast sizes and making fun of fat kids. Now Olivia usually whined about the lack of good lighting and the fact that the lockers were too small and your clothes always ended up getting wrinkled. What she had never mentioned was the smell.

  Shay caught her breath in surprise. The whole big room was warm and smelled sickly sweet, some combination of sweat, product, and perfume. She laughed. For some reason, she’d thought only boys’ locker rooms would be stinky.

  “Shay? What are you doing here?” Mindy Ryman asked, not even seeming to care that she was standing there in her underwear.