Children of Exile by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

to hate things like cruelty, and thistles and thorns. Not people. But I instantly regretted my words. Saying what the Freds wanted me to say usually just made Edwy mad. I winced again. “But I kind of agree. Those men on the plane were . . .”
    â€œTerrible,” Edwy finished for me. “And . . . hiding something. Fake.”
    Not real either, I thought. His words carved into the seat had been about the men on the plane, not our real parents. I felt disappointed somehow. As if I’d been counting on Edwy to explain everything. To solve all my problems.
    â€œYou thought scratching graffiti into an airplane seat and addressing it ‘Hey, world’ was going to change anything?” Iasked. I sounded as bitter and complaining as Edwy ever did back in Fredtown.
    He shrugged.
    â€œI thought maybe someday someone might see it, someone might decide to help us. . . .”
    Maybe the Freds had been more successful raising Edwy than any of them thought. He actually sounded hopeful. Idealistic.
    I wished I could still feel that way.
    â€œDoesn’t it seem like every adult we’ve ever known is hiding something?” I asked. “Because they’re the adults and we’re the kids. Because we’re not old enough yet to be told everything. Because . . .”
    It struck me that only Freds gave those reasons. The men on the plane had just seemed to regard us kids as too much bother.
    And my parents? I wondered. What are their reasons for . . . being like they are?
    â€œYeah!” Edwy said, as if he liked my question. He kicked at a clump of mud half submerged in the water. “I thought everything would be different here.”
    â€œIt is,” I muttered.
    â€œNo, more different,” Edwy said impatiently. “Like . . . have you noticed that there aren’t any kids older than us here either?”
    â€œWe’re the oldest kids there are,” I said, annoyed that he would treat this like a big deal. “It was like that in Fredtown, too. Remember?” I had to stop myself from adding Have you forgotten everything from before yesterday?
    Edwy shook his head impatiently, making his hair flop to the side.
    â€œNo, listen ,” he said, like he actually cared what I thought. “They took you and me to Fredtown the day we were born. Because they didn’t think we were safe here, right? If they really cared about kids’ safety, wouldn’t they have also taken the kids who were a year older than us, and two years older than us, and three years older than us, and so on and so on, all at the same time they took us?”
    I’d never thought of that before. Not once.
    â€œMy family had a big party last night,” Edwy said. “To celebrate me coming home. And—all the other kids, too. And all these aunts and uncles came. My real mom and my real dad have, like, eight brothers and sisters apiece, and they all have kids, too, so it turns out I have, like, eleventy-billion cousins. It turns out I was related to half the kids in Fredtown!”
    This almost made me giggle. This was so much what Edwy deserved.
    â€œSo you’re the oldest cousin,” I said. “Big surprise.”
    â€œNo,” Edwy said, shaking his head again, more emphatically than ever. “I wasn’t. I had cousins there who weregrown-ups—twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven—and then I had two or three cousins apiece at every age below mine. But between me and the twenty-five-year-olds—nothing.”
    Maybe I’d been sitting in the shade too long. I suddenly felt like shivering.
    â€œOkay,” I said slowly. “Maybe that’s just . . . a coincidence. Or something.”
    I didn’t even sound like I believed myself. I sounded spooked.
    â€œHave you seen any kids older than us here?” he asked.
    I thought about the people I’d seen on my long walk from the