Dylan’s perfect brow wrinkled. “Just some lab, up in Canada. I was — I was um, cloned, from another Dylan. Who died in a car wreck or something.” He took a bite of pain au chocolat.

I blinked. Most of the clones I’d seen were robotic. Like bad special effects in a movie. Which Dylan most certainly was not. “How old are you?”

“Um, about eight months, I think,” he said, looking to Dr. Gunther-Hagen for confirmation. The doctor nodded. “There’s been a lot to learn. Like, I suck at flying. I suck at a lot of stuff, actually.” He chuckled weakly and looked down at his plate sort of embarrassed-like. I kind of felt sorry for him.

And then felt angry and suspicious. We didn’t know him from Adam. This could all be part of an elaborate trap.

This isn’t a trap, Max.

I almost dropped my scone as my Voice suddenly spoke up for the first time in ages. Some people have a conscience. I have a Voice. An annoying, buttinsky, intrusive Voice —

Calm down, Max. Relax and enjoy this. This is a special occasion. You see, Dylan is for you. He was designed for you. He’s your perfect other half.

Chapter 14

14

I INHALED AND ACCIDENTALLY sucked scone crumbs down the wrong way, setting off an apoplectic coughing fit that had the doctor patting my back hard, looking concerned.

Made for me? My perfect other half? Are you freaking insane? my mind screamed, even as my eyes watered and I coughed and coughed, unable to bear the awful tickle at the back of my throat.

“Here, drink this,” said Angel, handing me some juice. “Can you breathe?” the doctor asked. “Do you need the Heimlich maneuver?”

“Heimlich me and die,” I managed to choke out, trying to take a sip.

Dylan had frozen, a cluster of red grapes in his hand. His eyes were wide and watchful, as if he actually gave a crap about what happened to me.

I’d suspected the doctor had an agenda —’cause nothing was ever given to us just because we were swell. Now I knew that it was sitting across from me, looking like the cover of People magazine’s Sexiest People issue.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked.

I nodded and took a deep breath. Time to make like a tree and leave. I got ready to stand up.

Max — don’t run away. Stick this out. Don’t be a coward.

I almost started choking again. Stupid Voice.

“Well, if you’re only eight months old,” said Angel, “it’ll take you a while to learn stuff.” She ladled some eggs onto her plate and tucked in. I gave thanks that she was remembering to use utensils.

Again Dylan focused his eyes, the color of the Caribbean, on me. I felt like it was about 110 degrees in there, and took a swig of cold juice. Maybe I had time for another croissant.