First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Childrenâs Books 2015
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Text copyright © Kat Zhang 2015
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Photo © Yolande de Kort/Trevillion Images
Kat Zhang asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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Source ISBN: 9780007490363
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007476428
Version: 2014-11-25
We share a heart, Addie and I. We own the same pair of hands. Inhabit the same limbs. That hot June day, freshly escaped from Nornand Clinic, we stood and saw the ocean for the first time through shared eyes. The wind batted our hair against our cheeks. The sand stuck to our salt-soaked skin, turning our pale legs tan.
We experienced that day as weâd experienced the past fifteen years of our lives. As Addie and Eva, Eva and Addie. Two souls sharing one body. Hybrid.
But the thing is, sharing hands doesnât mean sharing goals. Sharing eyes doesnât mean sharing visions. And sharing a heart doesnât mean sharing the things we love.
Here are some of the things I loved.
The cold shock of the ocean when I stood waist-deep in the water, jumping at the crest of each oncoming wave. The sound of Kittyâs laughter when I tickled her. The breathless joy of Hallyâs dancing. The way Ryan smiled when I turned to look at him and he was already looking at me.
Addie liked these things, too. But she didnât cherish them the way I didâdesperately. Because I never should have had them. Millions of recessive souls never reached age five, let alone fifteen. That was the way of the worldâor so Addie and I had been taught. Two souls born to each body. One marked by genetics to disappear.
I was lucky in so many ways.
I told myself this every morning when we opened our eyes, every night before we went to sleep.
I am lucky. So lucky.
I was alive. I was, in some ways, free. In a country where hybrids were forbidden and locked away, Addie and I had escaped. And Iâ
I could move and speak again. Me, who had known since childhood that I was the recessive soul, destined to fade away. That my parents would mourn quietly, quickly, then move on. That they would tell themselves this was the way of the world, the way things had always been, and who were they to question the workings of nature?
Children were supposed to shed recessive souls, leaving them behind like they would one day discard their baby teeth. Just another step on the journey to adulthood.
The alternative, never settlingâretaining both soulsâmeant staying trapped in the chaos of a perpetual childhood, never gaining the steady, rational mind of an adult who could be trusted to control her own body. How could a hybrid ever fit into society? How would she marry? Would she be able to work, with two souls pulling and yearning in two different directions? To be hybrid was to be forever unstable, forever torn.