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dead?”
    Brickert’s words punched her in the stomach. Even after a month, she still expected to see Sammy in the cafeteria eating his bowl of creamed oatmeal. She looked forward to fighting with him about whose breakfast was healthier, which movies were better, who Brickert really had a crush on. She missed those stupid arguments. She missed everything.
    “He could be alive. I don’t see why everyone has a problem believing that!”
    “I know,” Brickert pleaded with her. “I know. But I’ve talked to Gregor and Kaden and others who were there—”
    “—even Kobe?”
    “Except him. But I did try . . . when he was here. He didn’t want to talk to me. Everyone’s said the same thing. They didn’t see a way Sammy could still be alive.”
    Jeffie folded her arms and looked away now. “I’ve heard all that . . .”
    “I want him to be alive, too, I’ll tell you! But as much as I wish it were, it’s—”
    Jeffie fixed him with a murderous stare, daring him to say what she thought was coming next.
    “—it’s not likely. You heard the commander’s speech at Martin’s funeral. You know what happened, Jeffie. It kills me, too, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life waiting for my best friend to come walking through the door. I—” He dropped his voice again. “I don’t want to be like Al.” His chin quivered as he spoke and his eyes moistened, but he held strong.
    Brickert’s emotion got to Jeffie, but she refused to cry, too. She was so sick of crying. The first week after Sammy had ( don’t say it! ) not come home, she’d cried herself to sleep so much that she didn’t want to cry ever again.
    Brickert’s cheeks grew red spots. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” His eyes flickered over to sim room six. “I just—I don’t know what to say.”
    “I know,” she whispered.
    “I want to believe it. I do.”
    Jeffie nodded, holding her stomach tightly. If she let go, she’d throw up. “I just wish I knew one way or the other. My mind tells me he’s gone and—and Kawai and Natalia and Brillianté are bent on helping me accept that. But when I dream, Brickert, he is always alive.”

4. Butcher
     
     
    December 24, 2085
     
    F LOYD HERNANDES owned a comfortable two-level home located in a sprawling, middle-class neighborhood, or bairro , as Floyd called it. Sammy wondered why Floyd didn’t just call it a neighborhood, but he quickly learned that the butcher slipped in and out of using Portuguese without thought.
    The Hernandes family consisted of Floyd’s wife, Karéna, and their four children: Rianna, Adam, Rebecca, and Rosalina. The girls, whose ages ranged from twelve to eighteen, were enthralled by “Albert” and flirted shamelessly. Rebecca, the girl closest to Sammy in age (and extremely pretty), was particularly keen on him. They all looked like Karéna: tall and slender with long dark hair and big brown eyes.
    Adam, on the other hand, was short and round like his dad. Sammy didn’t think Adam liked him very much. He guessed it was because Floyd was so hard on his son, but treated Sammy like an honored guest. The family set up a cot for him in Adam’s room on the far wall from Adam’s bed. Late into the night, Adam peppered Sammy with questions about his parents, his life, and plans for the future. The interrogation aside, it was Adam’s tone Sammy found most annoying. He seemed bothered by Sammy’s “northern” accent and frequently told his sisters off for spending so much time around a complete stranger. Sammy tried not to let any of it worry him. He had more important things to think about.
    Christmas at the Hernandes’ began early on Christmas Eve and was unlike any holiday celebration Sammy had ever seen. Festivities were big, noisy, and continued into the night. He had never been to such a party. Hordes of family and friends descended upon the Hernandes house: first cousins, second cousins, third cousins . . . it made no difference. All