Where have these memories come from? As hard as I tried before, I could never remember very much about our journey to Earth aside from a few small details. I’ve never had this vivid a flashback before.

‘Are you listening to me?’ Purdy yells. ‘We have talked to the Mogadorians,’ he says. That statement yanks me back to the present with a thud. ‘Did you know that?’

‘Oh, yeah? What’d they have to say?’ I ask, trying to sound like I’m just making conversation, but I regret it instantly. Why would I admit knowing who the Mogs are? Before I can dwell on my mistake too much, my mind drifts back to the ship, to its doors opening, to the human with brown hair and large thick glasses standing, waiting to greet us. In his hands are a briefcase and a white tablet, and behind him sits a big box of clothes. Somehow I know that’s Sam’s dad. Sam. Oh, how I want to see Sam again.

‘I want to see Sam,’ I slur. Even though I don’t want to say anything more, reveal anything else to the agent, I can’t help myself. I hear my voice, feel my brain thick and sluggish, and instantly I realize there must have been drugs in the water. That’s why I can’t hold a thought in my head, why I keep drifting into my past, and why I feel such pain when I try to use my Legacies.

I kissed Sam. I should have kissed him for real but I was too worried what John would think.

John. I kissed John, too. I would really like to kiss John again. My stomach gets kind of squirmy when I play back the moment when John grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards him. He lowered his face to mine, but just before our lips touched, the house exploded. I can feel my chin tilt upward as I replay the moment again and again. Except this time, when the house explodes, we kiss. The kiss is perfect.

‘Sam?’ Agent Purdy asks, interrupting my thoughts. I was really enjoying remembering that kiss. ‘I’m guessing you mean Sam Goode, right?’

Sam’s face is now all I can see and my head is spinning out of control. ‘Yeah. Sure. I want to see Sam Goode.’ I can hear my voice drifting off.

‘Is he one of you? What number is Sam Goode?’

My eyelids grow heavy and I find myself falling asleep. The drugs are finally doing me some small favor.

‘Six!’ He shouts. ‘Hey, Six! Wake up! We’re not finished here!’

His shouts jar me so badly, I jerk up, only to be stopped by my restraints.

‘Six? Six! Where is Sam Goode? Where is John Smith?’