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sounded really stupid coming out like that—nothing like being the prince of a tribe.
    Brady saved her. “What kind of art do you like? Do you draw or paint?”
    “I like painting, but I’m better at drawing.”
    “I have the greatest idea for a manga, but I can’t draw. You could teach me!”
    A comic book? “Uh, sure.”
    Brady’s attention span was about two seconds. “Can I have more chicken?”
    “Have all you want,” Mark said, laughing as he passed the plate.
    Brady looked at Lys’s plate. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”
    She glanced down. “Yes?” It was more than she’d eaten at once in a long time.
    “I don’t understand you light eaters. Personally, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. Although I prefer tomatoes”—Brady pronounced it ta-mah-toes“—and beans to your American cold cereal.”
    “That’s sick.” Lys made a face, imagining eating any sort of bean for breakfast. It must be a boy thing.
    “What do you eat?” Brady asked Kamau. It was obvious the younger boy was dying to know more about this African tribe.
    Kamau grinned, glancing at Lys. “I’d rather not say at the table.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want any beans?” Brady asked Lys, raising the bowl.
    “I’m good.” She held up a hand.
    “What’s your story?” Brady asked Mark.
    Mark finished chewing before he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Mason here found me and helped me go through what you’re going through. That was a few years ago. I decided I wanted to stay on and help everyone else. We’re kind of a tight family here.”
    “We’re lucky to have a lot of dedicated, resourceful people to help us,” Mr. Mason said.
    Mark nodded. “You’re in good hands.”
    The conversation paused. Lys felt like they were dancing around the proverbial elephant in the room—the question they were all thinking but no one wanted to ask. Knowing everyone’s names was nice, but she had bigger reasons for being here.
    “So,” she said, turning to Mr. Mason. “You mentioned that we would start treatments tonight?”

Chapter 5
    Genni smiled. “Are you ready?” How could Genni be so casual? The question reminded Lys of something her mother would ask her like, “Do you have your keys?” or, “Do we need milk?” Not, “I’m about to give you some ‘tonic’ that’s going to counteract the deadly drug in your system trying to kill you. It might be uncomfortable. You’re going to feel horrible for the next week or so, but trust me, you’ll live.” That’s not exactly the way Mr. Mason described it, but that was the gist.
    “Sure,” Lys said aloud. “Why wait?”
    The woman handed Lys a large glass of cloudy, white liquid. “You might want to sit down on the bed first,” she said.
    “Will it affect me that fast?” Lys asked, eying the liquid with new suspicion.
    “It does some people.”
    Lys sat. She stared at the glass in her hand, wondering how something that looked like the dregs of a science experiment could cure her.
    How bad could it be? She’d seen TV. Movies. Sure, people went through withdrawal all the time. Flu like symptoms, puking everywhere, looking like a bus just ran over you, and probably feeling that way, too. Lys swallowed. I can handle this, she told herself. She’d had the flu last year. She’d been hit in the face by more than one volleyball in her gym classes. Feeling like crap—she could take it.
    Bringing the glass to her lips, Lys sniffed. No smell. Of course she couldn’t smell much anyway. As Mr. Mason had predicted, her other senses had started to dull over the past few days, with her sense of smell going the quickest. Lys could feel Genni watching her, waiting. So in one, daring chug, Lys tipped the glass back and drank.
    It was the same liquid Ayden had given to her when she’d collapsed on the front stairs. At least it tasted the same—flat Sprite.
    “Good job.” Genni took the glass. “You might want to lie down.”
    Lys went to swing her