The Similars (The Similars #1)(101)
Maude nods. “For now, yes.”
I’m frustrated, but I know I won’t change her mind.
“We have to tell someone,” I appeal to Oliver. “We have to report what Ransom’s doing to them. The research. It’s a violation of their human rights… Maybe you can make a documentary?”
“But not if they don’t want me to. This isn’t our battle, is it? We’re not one of them…” Oliver says.
But I am, I think, before I can stop myself. Or am I?
When my father arrives in the dining hall, I wave to him. He gathers a tray of food, then sits next to me, squeezing awkwardly between me and Prudence. It takes all the willpower I have not to ask him, right here and now, if the original Emma died, like Gravelle said in his letter. If I was cloned to be a replacement. If that’s the reason he has never really loved me.
I don’t. I won’t, especially not here.
“I got you chocolate cake,” my father says. “You always liked that as a kid…” It’s not lost on either of us that he has no idea what I like anymore, what my tastes and preferences are.
But then, maybe I don’t either. I was raised as someone else. How can I be me?
“We’re so relieved you’re home, Oliver,” my father says, neatly folding his napkin over his lap. “You too, Prudence. How is your mother?”
“She’s stable again. Thanks for asking.”
The table goes noticeably quiet. My father hasn’t acknowledged that Levi isn’t here.
Maude nods from across the table. Her eyes are kind. She understands. When it comes to Levi, Maude is as disturbed by his absence as I am.
“He’ll be back,” she says quietly, as the others return to their chattering. They’re all looking across the cafeteria at the originals’ table, at the empty chair where Tessa would have been sitting. Madison sits there now without her sidekick, flanked by Archer and Jake. They notice us watching them and look away.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Because Levi is a fighter. He survived sixteen years with that man. He’ll find a way to give our guardian what he wants, and then he will return to you.”
To me. What does that even mean? The idea of having Oliver back, safe and sound, and Levi here too, makes me giddy with relief, joy. It also terrifies me.
I look over at Oliver as he chats with the Similars, so foreign and strange to him. He is respectful in his curiosity, not overdoing his questions. Ollie catches my gaze, smiling. In that smile, I think I see him, the real him, breaking through whatever Gravelle did to him. He grabs my hand, squeezing it.
“Em? You okay?” Oliver asks me quietly, so the others can’t hear.
“More than okay,” I say. “You’re home. Everything can go back to normal now.”
For the first time in my life, I lie to him.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist without a handful of core people I would clone this very instant if I had the technology handy to pull it off. Thanks to every single one of you who supported, advised, and encouraged me on the most thrilling ride of my writing life. Do not be shocked if your exact DNA copy tracks you down tomorrow at Whole Foods. You’ve been warned.
Endless thanks to my agent, Sasha Raskin, who is the definition of fierce. I am forever grateful for your guidance, your all-hours responses to my frantic emails, your editorial instincts, and your steadfast belief in this story from day one. You are an excellent human, and you helped me realize a lifelong dream, which is a roundabout way of saying I heart you.
Thank you to my brilliant editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan. Your insights are simply astonishing. I am beyond thankful that I get to work with an editor as experienced and thoughtful as you. Thank you for loving my characters and pushing me, and them, to be better.
Many thanks to the Sourcebooks family—from sales, marketing, and publicity to Sourcebooks Fire’s talented copyeditors and design team—I am so grateful for all that you have done to make this story come alive. Special thanks to Kathryn Lynch, Heidi Weiland, Valerie Pierce, Stephanie Graham, Stefani Sloma, Cassie Gutman, Sarah Kasman, and David Curtis for your eternal support and patience.
There aren’t enough words in the dictionary (I checked) to adequately thank my best friends and critique partners, Bill Hanson and Winnie Yuan Kemp. This book would not be what it is without your eternal patience, expertise, and willingness to read 849 (or was it 850?—it felt like it!) drafts. Stanford housing assignment gods, whoever you are, when you paired me with these two back in FloMo, you forever altered my life’s course. You are two of my favorite people on the planet, which is why I have already stolen samples of your hair and plan to recreate you in a lab. Stay tuned.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Victoria Frank, for holding me accountable, and for always being willing to geek out with me over YA. Emma and Levi only made it to Castor Island because of you, which is why you are now permanently on the hook to read everything I send you within an hour of receipt. SORRY!
To Alexa Gerrity Johnson, my productivity partner in writing and in life, thank you for spending an entire weekend curled up with my book, which was only a sliver of a dream when we were neighbors on Ninth Street and I wore that hideous suit to Stanford Networking Night. Thank you for sticking by me ever since that first bubble tea.
To my manager, Matt Sadeghian, THANK YOU for believing this book could be so much, and more.