The Gift

BOOK THREE
THE END OF THE ALL GOODS
Chapter 72

Wisty

Whitand I have been trudging through a steady drizzle for many miles now, and it seems as if every single tree trunk along the highway has been stapled with posters of us. They're recent pictures-my brother and I in our flashy white Brave New World Center couture: WANTED for TREASON, TREACHERY, TRICKERY, WIZARDRY, WITCHCRAFT, and POLLUTING the ENVIRONMENT with their PERNICIOUS INFLUENCE

"Lord, what a girl has to do to finally get popular," I say with resignation. "It's so unfair. At least that mug shot of me is better than my stupid yearbook photo!"

"Even with the bald head? Um, I'm not so sure, Wist…"

"I've decided it's totally fierce," I tell him. "Resistance chic. I think it'll catch on."

Whit snorts. I don't expect him to get it anyway, given his fondness for curvy chicks with flowing locks. With my prison-pale skin-two shades lighter than its normal "freckled and fair"-and my raw scalp and dirty baggy jumpsuit, I'm so totally the opposite of his type.

But Emmet might like it. I bet he would. I miss him-and everyone else in Freeland-so much right now.

"Are we there yet?" I quip as we make our way through a portion of the woods parallel to the highway in the outskirts of a small city. I can hear raucous cheering in the distance.

"We're still a few miles off. The border of Freeland is constantly receding," Whit explains. "I wonder if that's a New Order rally we're hearing or a Resistance rally. Hard to tell in these parts."

"Should we check it out?"

"Let's," he says. "Carefully."

We turn away from the highway and head up a side street that leads into town. After a few blocks, we spot the fringes of the mob, swarming in a park situated in front of a large stone building. We can't make out their chanting yet.

"It's all adults. Clearly not Resistance," observes Whit. "We can't get any closer without being noticed. We're the poster kids of the week around here."

"Well, then," I muse, "maybe we shouldn't be kids anymore."

Whit whistles as he figures out what I mean. "You think you can do it?"

"Maybe together we can," I say, and take his hand. "I've got no plans to enter my geezer years alone."

I remember a tidbit from a poem Dad used to read to us, and I make Whit recite it with me: When I was young! ah woeful When! Ah for the Change twixt now and then!

And then… it's the strangest morphing experience I've had by far. Usually it's swift and smooth, as if I'm as soft and moldable as a chunk of cookie dough being squeezed through some higher power's fingers. This time, it's slow and… painful. Creaky. As if my spine is being crunched down, and the rest of me aches in response, right down to the soles of my feet.

Whit groans, equally unexcited about his new body. "Don't tell me this is how years of playing contact sports is going to wreck me in old age." He moans. "My back is killing me. And both my knees. Ouch, ouch, ouch."

I try taking a deep breath, and it's just not the same. "My lungs feel… weird… smaller. Cramped up or something." Suddenly all of Mom's griping about me not standing up straight enough somehow seems to make sense.

The odd sensation of something tickling my neck makes me jump, and I smack what I think must be a spider but what turns out to be-hair! I take a coarse strand in my newly veiny hand and check it out. It's whiter than an ash heap!

"Bye-bye, Resistance chic!" I sing woefully.

"Well, I guess you don't need to worry about growing your hair back," Whit comments.

"And I guess you do," I retort, eyeing his very oblong balding head.

"Or else I'm just going to have to shave my head like you." My brother strokes his shiny scalp and patchy hair with a knuckly, liver-spotted hand.

"I highly recommend waxing instead," I joke. Whit responds with a chuckle that morphs into a more penetrating look of alarm.

"Wisty, I will so kill you if you can't change us back."

"Lighten up. We've always been able to revert, right? Not always at the most convenient moment, of course, but the spells never last forever."

At least I hope not.