"So that was your role. Long-distance Realtor." A slight tilt of his head, and a hesitant nod, makes me remember what Lily said. "Oh, and you were also the other half of the whisking team," I add.

"Whisking?"

"Getting me out of Dodge."

He smiles. "Right. I'm part of the emergency drill. Your father said he'd rather keep you here since he can easily get medical support if something goes wrong, but if the authorities should find out, your grandmother is to bring you to my house. From there I take both of you to an airstrip not far from here. It's only a short flight over the border into Mexico to another airstrip. And from there you'd fly to Italy. Italy has more liberal laws regarding transplants."

"And brain uploads? The Italians can't count?"

He is silent.

"Or to make matters simpler, and save you some time, my parents could just pop my backup in the mail instead. Parcel post could take me to Italy, probably for a lot less expense and worry. Or if they really want to splurge, they could overnight me with Air Express. Or they could — "

The rising delirium in my voice makes me stop my rant.

"Come," Mr. Bender says. "Let's sit and talk for a bit."

I nod and follow him up the slope to his house and we sit in two chairs on his back porch looking out at the pond and my own house on the other side.

"What's wrong with Dane, Mr. Bender?" I ask. "My friend Allys says he's missing something."

"I don't know exactly, Jenna, but I think your friend might be right. All I know for sure is that he's trouble."

"But at least he's legal."

Mr. Bender jogs his chair toward me and leans forward. "Listen to me, Jenna. There are different kinds of laws. Some are written in books, and some are written in here." He taps his chest. "Dane may have the paper kind of legal, but he has none of the kind that's planted inside."

But how does it get there?

I look at him, his hand still resting against his chest. How does the "legal" kind get inside? Can it be sewn in by a surgeon with careful stitches?

"What do you see, Mr. Bender, when you look at me?"

I watch his eyes, taking in my skin, my face, my eyes. I see him consider every twitch, every blink of my eyes. I can see his every misstep, every considered lie, every return to truth. It's a line he crosses often, and sometimes lies and truth melt into something else. His tongue runs across his lips. He blinks.

Truth. Lie. Truth. The something else. Confusion at what I am?

"Please," I say.

"I see a lot of complicated things when I look at you, Jenna. A horrible unexpected turn, a second chance, hope — "

I stand. "Hope for what, Mr. Bender? A life where I can never be what I was, and can't even be what I am now without hiding? This is all too hard."

"Jenna." He stands and holds my shoulders. "I'm sorry for what you're going through. I know it's been difficult. Believe me, no one knows as well as I do how hard it is to start over. I think that's why I wanted to help you from the beginning, maybe even when I shouldn't have. I saw the frightened teen I once was when I looked at you."

He lets go of my shoulders, but I keep looking into his face. Mr. Bender is as old as my father, but I see something in him that is as young as me. Do certain events in our lives leave a permanent mark, freezing a piece of us in time, and that becomes a touchstone that we measure the rest of our lives against?

I feel my fists relax, my joints loosen. "I think it was good luck that you were my first friend, Mr. Bender."

"First?"

"That's right. Jenna's first friend, ad."

His eyebrows raise.

"After Disaster."

He laughs, his curious Mr. Bender laugh, and then suggests a walk in his garden.

We reach the circular clearing where he feeds the birds. "Here," he says as he removes his jacket. "I've been borrowing Clayton Bender's identity for thirty years. Let me share it with you for a few minutes." He places his jacket on my shoulders and then takes my palm and rubs it with his own. "Turns out that birds have a better sense of smell than most people thought."

We sit on the log bench and he fills my palm with seed, and even though it is only for the briefest moment, a sparrow lands and flies away with a beak full.

"See? They're used to you now. Next time you won't need me."

I decide that sometimes definitions are wrong. Even if they're written in a dictionary. Identities aren't always separate and distinct. Sometimes they are wrapped up with others. Sometimes, for a few minutes, maybe they can even be shared. And if I am ever fortunate enough to return to Mr. Bender's garden, I wonder if the birds will see that piece of him that is wrapped up in me.

Listening

The silence

darkness

nothing

please

let us go

Help us

Jenna.

We need you.

Hurry, Jenna.

We need you.

Screaming. I hear screaming. My own screams. Theirs.

But no one can hear. A place so dark no one can hear. Except me. "Help! Please! Somebody!"

"Jenna! Wake up!"

Father is holding me. Mother sits at the end of my bed. I am in a place of light and touch again. "You were dreaming," Father says, squeezing me.

"No," I say. "I was . . ." Impossible. Father's face is lined, tired. Fear. Mother is perched, waiting, her hair a bird's nest.