Eve and Adam by Michael Grant, Katherine Applegate

snapped, muscle meat torn like a turkey drumstick—there is smooth, unblemished white skin.

 
    – 19 –

    “There isn’t even a scar,” Aislin murmurs.
    We all stare for a while. I extend shaking fingers toward my leg.
    I need to touch to believe.
    The skin isn’t even bumpy. It’s not just smooth. It’s absolutely identical to the way it was before the accident.
    I push the bandages down farther. It’s like taking off a very tight legging. All the way to my knee, just in case, just in case memory is playing some weird trick on me.
    “We’re awake, right?” I ask.
    Solo stands up. He sets the scissors on the counter. “It’s been like this for days. By the second day everything was fine. By the third day the scars would have already been disappearing. Day four?” He lifts his shoulders. “There can be variations, it’s not an exact thing.”
    Aislin seems to have forgotten her own injuries. “That’s not possible. Is it?”
    “Solo,” I say. He has the answers. I can tell.
    “Have you ever had a scrape or a skinned knee that lasted more than a day?” he asks.
    “Um … I don’t know.” I scroll back over a lifetime of Band-Aids. “Who keeps track?”
    “Cuts? Bruises?” Solo leans back against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Toothaches?”
    “I’m an excellent flosser,” I say defensively.
    “Colds? Flu?”
    My heart is hammering. “I use Purell?” I say with a weak smile. “How many colds have you had in your life?”
    Solo tenses. He starts to say something, then catches himself. “We’re talking about you.”
    “She never gets sick,” Aislin says softly. “Like … never. She doesn’t even get cramps.”
    I shoot her a look.
    She holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “Well, it’s true.”
    “So I’m the picture of health. I’m lucky,” I say. Gingerly I touch my thigh.
    Solo shakes his head. “No one is that lucky.”
    “Wait! I know!” I cry triumphantly. “When I was around two I had heart surgery.” I am weirdly relieved by this fact. “It was some valve thing. Congenital. They repaired it, though. With pig tissue, actually.”
    Aislin frowns. “Like … bacon?”
    “No,” Solo says to me. “They didn’t repair it surgically.”
    “Obviously, they did. Because here I am, fine. Beyond fine.” I chew on a thumbnail, considering. “And how could you possibly know what happened when I was two, anyway?”
    Solo looks at his feet. “You didn’t have long to live, Eve,” he says. “The odds of getting a heart transplant were pretty slim. At some level, you can see why they did it. They were desperate.”
    I grab his arm. “What are you telling me?”
    “You’re a mod.” Solo touches my hand and I loosen my grip on his arm. “You’re genetically modified. It happened when you were two. It’s in your file.”
    He waits while I absorb this.
    I leave him waiting.
    I am not absorbing.
    “Two days after your surgery, you were completely cured,” Solo says. “The doctors probably thought they were seeing things. What they were seeing was the Logan Serum. Either your mom or your dad must have injected you.”
    “Logan Serum,” I repeat dully.
    “Cool,” Aislin says, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Can I get some?”
    “No one can get any,” Solo replies. “It’s never been approved by the FDA, by the government.”
    “Why not, if it’s so—” I start, but just then Aislin’s legs buckle just a little. She catches herself, but I can see the night has taken a big toll.
    “I need a drink of water,” she says in a little girl voice.
    I fill a glass from the tap. Solo catches Aislin as she suddenly folds up. He lifts her easily. She’s not unconscious, just in that strange zone between awake and asleep.
    Solo places her on my bed. I put a pillow under her head, pull off her boots, and cover her with a blanket.
    I motion Solo to follow me back into the bathroom. The Leg is surprisingly limber, but my hands won’t