What's Left of Me by Kat Zhang

told us she’s mentally unstable.” His eyes were black. Cold. “They say she needs intensive, specialized care before it’s too late to save her. They want to correct her. They want to correct my sister, Addie.”
    Unstable. Special care.
    Too late.
    I felt Addie twist and turn beside me, her anguish bleeding into me, mine seeping into her.
    Something must be done before it’s too late.
    That was what the doctors, the specialists, that guidance counselor with the bobbed gray hair had told our parents while we listened with our ear pressed against the door.
    “But—” Addie said. “But how? They can’t—”
    “They did tests. Scans. They had papers. Signatures from officials. They scared our parents, convinced them she was in danger—would be a danger. We couldn’t do anything.”
    We stared at him, our hair tangling as the wind blew it across our face.
    “They’re going to take me, too,” Devon said.
    Our fingers choked the nearest tree trunk.
    “Just like that?” Addie whispered.
     I said.
    Devon and Ryan stared at us. One pair of eyes, two people. “We might not be settled. That’s enough reason for them.”
    Our throat was thick, our lungs molasses-soaked sponges.
    And then Devon shifted—a sudden, harsh change like a jerk sideways. Nothing subtle.
    “Run,” Ryan said.
    Addie dug our nails into the tree. “What?”
    “They’re going to be checking files, Addie.” His voice was softer now, almost like the one I’d heard sometimes when he sat by me on the couch, talking about his various projects, showing me how each one worked. The little robot man that was balanced well enough to walk across a table. The metal box that wouldn’t open unless you pressed all the buttons in the right order. “They’re going to ask who we’ve been seen with. Who comes over. Who we’ve done projects with. And your file—your file is going to be very, very interesting to them.”
    The wind moaned, making the trees sway. We swayed with them.
    “Run, Addie.” There was a current of fear in Ryan’s voice that made our insides twist. “Don’t go home today. Just leave.”
    “Just leave ,” Addie said. “ Leave? My parents? Lyle?”
    “You’ll be leaving them behind either way!” he said, his voice tight and hoarse—as if crushed down from a shout. “Addie, they’ll take you away.”
    “They’ll give me back,” Addie cried. “They always gave me back. I’m settled. I always came back home.”
    Silence. Head-pounding, heart-throbbing silence.
    “And you?” The words cracked as they left our lips. “Will you run?”
    He shook his head. “I can’t. They’ve already taken Lissa and Hally. But you have to. Addie, please . Run. You can’t— Eva—”
    “Devon?” someone shouted. “Devon Mullan!”
    Ryan stiffened. Addie twisted around just in time to see a man in a white button-down shirt slam his car door shut. He strode toward us, his lips thinning as his shoes sank into the mud.
    “There you are, Devon.” The man was tall—lean, with a strong jaw and short, light brown hair. He looked about our parents’ age, no more than forty-five. A good-looking man. Crisp. Official. “I was just about to give up and see if you’d gone on home. Didn’t we agree to meet by your locker?”
    “I forgot,” Ryan said, his voice flat.
    The man looked at us. Glanced, to be more precise. But a glance that made me feel naked, as if he was looking straight past our eyes and seeing Addie and me curled in the nebulas of our mind.
    “Well, no real harm done,” he said, sounding as if real and grievous harm had been done indeed. He gestured to his car. It gleamed on the side of the road like a black monster in wait. “Are you ready to go now?”
    “One moment,” Ryan said. He shifted on his feet, stepping forward—toward us. Before we knew what was happening, he’d pulled us into a hug. Addie flinched and tried to jerk backward. He held us still. I was caged in our