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there, with her. We’re both type AB. We were only exposed for a few minutes before my husband found us and got us back inside. Why would they take her?!”
    “Ooh, I don’t feel good,” Astrid said. She was wheezing now.
    “And now no one will talk to me or tell me anything!” the woman said, nearly shouting now.
    “I need air. I can’t breathe,” Astrid gasped.
    It was a panic attack. I’d seen her have them before.
    “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”
    But we were moving away from her then, Astrid leaning on me and me telling people to get out of our way.
    It was scary. But …
    But the woman had said she was type AB—that’s the blood type that suffers from paranoid delusions when exposed to the compounds.
    That fact made it hard to give her full credit. She seemed a little crazy, was acting a little crazy. I’d assumed she was a little crazy.
    But Astrid had assumed she was telling the truth.
    It was a little tricky, knowing what to say to her.
    “I know you’re scared,” I said. Wrong thing to say. Astrid’s eyes blazed.
    “It’s not that I’m scared, Dean. It’s that I believe they are taking pregnant women who’ve been exposed away for testing. And I don’t want to be taken away.”
    “We’re in a bind.” I tried to reason with her. “Because, eventually, you’re going to have to go to the clinic. Even if it’s just for your checkup.”
    She shrugged and turned her attention back to the meatloaf sandwich.
    “How are you feeling? Are the cramps better?”
    “Yeah,” she said. “It just happens when I’m stressed out. I’m too hopped up. Sometimes I can’t get myself to calm down.”
    “I get that same way. It’s why I get so out of control with Jake. This energy comes up in me out of nowhere.”
    “I know exactly what you mean,” Astrid agreed.
    We were getting along again. It was a relief, and I should have let it be, but I pushed it.
    “When Jake edges me on like that, it’s not cool!” I said. “He’s always pushing me, trying to make me lose my temper.”
    It was like a shutter closed behind her eyes.
    “Don’t talk about Jake,” she snapped. “I’m sick of you both putting each other down to me all the time. It’s exhausting.”
    Oh, so Jake was putting me down to her? I’d suspected but now I knew.
    And before I could tell myself to chill out, I realized my hands were in fists.
    I looked over to Astrid and she was watching me.
    I shrugged. “I’m sorry,” I said.
    Her eyes flitted away, as if she was embarrassed by what she was seeing in me.
    “Well, thanks for standing up for me, even if you think I’m being paranoid,” she said. She bit into the apple.
    “Do you want to go for a walk before lights out?” I asked.
    She shook her head.
    “Hey!” Sahalia called. She and Alex were making their way toward us through the bunks. She held up a guitar.
    The Canadians had distributed a few musical instruments this way—and sometimes little jam sessions broke out, which was amazingly nice, actually.
    Other teens and kids were returning from dinner all around us. Some of them seemed really nice—some of them seemed rotten—just like you’d expect of any group of kids.
    But I’d not made friends with a single one.
    I didn’t want any new people to worry about—I had my family of friends.
    “It’s my night with the guitar!” Sahalia said happily. “Is there anything you want to hear?”
    “Do that Jamaican song!” Alex requested.
    Sahalia rolled her eyes.
    “You have the worst taste in music,” she teased.
    “You’re the one who knows the song!” Alex replied, grinning. “If it’s so bad, why did you memorize it?”
    Sahalia launched into an old reggae song, “No Woman, No Cry.” It had been one of our dad’s favorites.
    Had Alex told that to Sahalia? Had they started to share personal stuff with each other from the past?
    Astrid got under her covers, clothes and all. She watched Sahalia