What’s Left of Me. Kat Zhang
TV was blaring when Addie opened the Woodards’ front door, Hally following close behind. Mr. Woodard grabbed his briefcase and keys when he saw us. “Kids are in the living room, Addie.” He hurried out the door, saying over his shoulder as he went, “Call if you need anything.”
“This is Hally Mul—” Addie tried to say, but he was already gone, leaving us alone with Hally in the foyer.
“He didn’t even notice me,” Hally said.
Addie rolled her eyes. “I guess I’m not surprised. He’s always like that.”
We’d been babysitting Will, Robby, and Lucy for a while now—even before Mom had reduced her hours at work to care for Lyle—but Mr. Woodard still had moments when he forgot Addie’s name. Our parents weren’t the only ones in town with too much work and too little time.
The living room TV was tuned to a cartoon featuring a pink rabbit and two rather enormous mice. Lyle used to watch the same thing when he was younger, but at ten, he claimed to have outgrown it.
Apparently seven-year-olds were still allowed to watch cartoons, though, because Lucy lay on the carpet, her legs waving back and forth. Her little brother sat beside her, equally engrossed.
“He’s Will right now,” Lucy said without turning around. The cartoon ended, replaced by a public service announcement, and Addie looked away. We’d seen enough PSAs. At the old hospital we’d gone to, they’d played them on a loop—endless rounds of good-looking men and women with friendly voices and nice smiles reminding us to always be on the lookout for hybrids hiding somewhere, pretending to be normal. People who’d escaped hospitalization. People like Addie and me.
Just call the number on the screen, they always said, displaying perfect white teeth. Just one call, for the safety of your children, your family, your country.
They never said exactly what would happen after that call, but I guess they didn’t need to. Everyone already knew. Hybrids were too unstable to just leave alone, so calls usually led to investigations, which sometimes led to raids. We’d only ever seen one on the news or in the videos they showed us in Government class, but it was more than enough.
Will jumped up and headed for us, casting a confused and rather suspicious glance at Hally. She smiled at him.
“Hi, Will.” She dropped into a squat despite her skirt. We’d gone straight to the Woodards’ from school, not even stopping to change out of our uniforms. “I’m Hally. Do you remember me?”
Lucy finally looked away from the television screen. She frowned. “I remember you. My mom says—”
Will jerked on the bottom of our skirt and cut Lucy off before she could finish. “We’re hungry.”
“They’re not really,” Lucy said. “I just gave them a cookie. They want another one.” She climbed to her feet, revealing the box of cookies she’d been hiding from view. “Are you going to play with us?” she asked Hally.
Hally smiled at her. “I’m here to help babysit.”
“Who? Will and Robby?” Lucy said. “They don’t need two people.” She stared at us, daring someone to say that she, at seven, still needed a babysitter.
“Hally’s here to keep me company,” Addie said quickly. She picked Will up, and he wrapped his arms around our neck, setting his tiny chin on our shoulder. His baby-fine hair tickled our cheek.
Hally grinned and wiggled her fingers at him. “How old are you now, Will?”
Will hid his face.
“Three and a half,” Addie said. “They should be settling in a year or so.” She readjusted Will in our arms and forced a smile onto our face. “Isn’t that right, Will? Are you going to settle soon?”
“He’s Robby now,” Lucy said. She’d grabbed her box of cookies again and munched on one as she spoke.
Everyone looked at the little boy. He reached toward his sister, oblivious to our scrutiny.
<She’s right> I said. <He just changed.> I’d always been better at differentiating between Robby and Will, even if Addie denied it. Maybe it was because I didn’t have to focus on moving our body or speaking to other people. I could simply watch and listen and notice all the tiny little ticks that marked one soul from the other.
“Robby?” Addie said.
The toddler wriggled again, and Addie set him down. He ran over to his sister. Lucy dangled what remained of her cookie in front of his face.
“No!” he said. “We don’t want that one. We want a new one.”
Lucy stuck her tongue out at him. “Will would’ve taken it.”
“Would not!” he cried.
“Would too. Right, Will?”
Robby’s face screwed up. “No.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Lucy said.
<Better hurry> I said. <Before Robby pitches a fit.>
To my surprise, Hally got there before we did, plucking a cookie from the box and dropping it into Robby’s outstretched hands.
“There.” She crouched down again, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Is that better?”
Robby blinked. His eyes shifted between Hally and his new prize. Then he grinned shyly and bit into the cookie, crumbs cascading down his shirt.
“Say thank you,” Lucy told him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“No problem,” Hally said. She smiled. “Do you like chocolate chip? I do. They’re my favorite.”
A small nod. Even Robby was a little subdued around strangers. He took another bite of his cookie.
“And what about Will?” Hally said. “What kind of cookies does he like?”
Robby gave a sort of half shrug, then said softly, “Same kind as me.”
Hally’s voice was even quieter when she spoke again. “Would you miss him, Robby? If Will went away?”
“How about we go into the kitchen?” Addie jerked the box of cookies from Lucy’s hand, inciting a cry of outrage. “Come on, Lucy—don’t let Robby eat that in the living room. Your mom will kill me if you get crumbs on the rug.”
Addie grabbed Robby’s hand, pulling him away from Hally. But she didn’t do it fast enough. Robby had time to turn. He had time to look at Hally, still crouching there on the ground, and whisper, “Yes.”
I had to agree. Robby and Will—they switched twice more during the course of the afternoon—both adored her. Even Lucy had followed us to the door, asking if Hally was coming back next time. Whatever her mother had said about Hally—and, judging from the way the woman looked at her when she came home, it hadn’t been anything good—seemed to have slipped from Lucy’s mind.
Turned out we lived in the same direction, so Hally said she’d walk with us. We set out into the evening sun, the air dripping with humidity and mosquitoes. It was only April, but a recent heat wave had driven the temperature to record highs. The collar of our uniform flopped damply against our neck.
They