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not. “Look, seriously, you’re more likely to die crossing the street. Like, right now.” And Erin reiterated the point: “You’re more likely to die right now than you are getting the Mark. You’re more likely to die from food poisoning. Or cancer. Or, I don’t know, lightning.”
    “I know,” Logan said.
    “So if you’re gonna bother being nervous about the Pledge, you might as well just be nervous about every little thing you do in life.”
    “I am.” Logan shrugged.
    The indifference in his tone was suddenly infuriating. “You’re not gonna die from getting the Mark!” Erin said forcefully. “Everyone got it when the program started. Millions of people in the A.U. Millions more in the E.U. They’re all fine . And the kids who turn eligible each year are fine too. We’ve all heard the rumors about flunkees, but honestly, that’s just ridiculous.” She wasn’t sure exactly what frustrated her so much about the turn in their conversation, but Erin found herself feeling increasingly defensive.
    “Sorry. I know your dad works for DOME,” Logan said.
    And, in fact, that was it. That was what irked Erin so much about what Logan was saying. “Yeah, so what?” she said, admitting nothing. The last thing she wanted was to get into a conversation about her father. His secret was so fresh in her mind, she didn’t trust herself not to slip up and reveal something about it, even to this stranger.
    “Well, I’m not questioning it or anything. I mean, DOME’s great and all. I’m just . . . I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s unreasonable to be a little nervous about it.”
    Erin didn’t blink. “It is unreasonable. No one actually dies from the Pledge, okay?”
    Logan looked away. He shrugged and was quiet for a moment.
    “My sister did.”
    7
    The morning of Lily’s thirteenth birthday, it was Logan’s job to corral the guests and family. Being eight at the time, and the youngest of his relatives by several years, he’d been sent to bed long before the previous night’s festivities had died down, and while Logan had managed to spend half the evening sitting with his ear to the floor, listening to the laughter and music and chatter leaking from every level of the house, by the time the sun rose, he was still easily the best rested and first one up. So Logan went floor by floor that morning, banging on doors, switching on lights, throwing open curtains, and jumping on beds until every last guest was wide-eyed and vertical.
    “Get up, get up! It’s Lily’s birthday!” Logan said to his aunt Susan and uncle David. “It’s Lily’s birthday! She’s thirteen!” he said to Grandma. “Today’s the biggest day of her life!” he said to his cousins, Selma and Jake, without quite knowing how right he was.
    So the family gathered around the kitchen table, groggy but excited for the day, and Lily’s best friend Daniel even stopped by on his way to school. Mom was making pancakes and French toast, and everyone who wanted it was welcome to leftover cake.
    Aunt Susan and Uncle David were the owners of a bakery over in New Chicago, and every year for Logan’s and Lily’s birthdays they would bake a particular treat. Usually they’d bake black forest cake, or cheesecake, or chocolate mousse cake, or angel food cake, but this year’s was special. This year’s, double layered and the size of four or five dinner plates, had been crafted precisely to look like an enormous . . . well . . . hand , palm up, with an elaborate, speckled pattern tattooed in frosting on its wrist. This had been the source of much merriment the night before, of course, for as unappetizing as the cake looked to Logan, not even he could deny the craftsmanship involved in designing a cake that looked so much like the hand of a Marked. Desserts like this were not unheard-of at a thirteenth birthday celebration, but they were something of a novelty otherwise, and since Lily was the first in Logan’s family to turn in some time, its design was new to him—and revolting. So, as excited as he had been for his sister’s big day, when his aunt gave him, as a treat, the entire pinkie the night before, Logan couldn’t bring himself to eat a single bite.
    This morning, Logan helped himself to a pancake and sat at the table, quietly enjoying his family’s excitement. He dangled his feet off the chair as he carefully drowned each bite in a plate-sized lake of taste-enhanced nanosyrup, and he waited for Lily to join