Let's get this clear. I know this part is long, and even worse, it's not particularly interesting. If you don't want to read it, that's perfectly understandable. I promise to do my best next time to make it only long if it's interesting. Swear it.

I woke up in the morning, birds twittering outside. They'd fly off in a minute, take to the sky. I smiled. Only a few people in the world knew what that felt like. You could say I was blessed to be one of those seldom few.

Yeah. Blessed. That's me, the blessed, blind, genetic freak.

I wrapped the covers back over my head, and tried falling back asleep. After a really long time, it eventually became clear that falling back asleep wasn't going to happen.

I grudgingly rolled out of bed. I suddenly remembered that I wasn't in Anne's house anymore. I was in my house. My parent's house. Parent's!

That spark of knowledge woke me up more than usual in the morning. I slumped down to the kitchen for some breakfast. It took a while, but I finally got everything I needed to make some scrambled eggs. While I was taking the spatula to the fluffy eggs, I heard one of my parent's footsteps on the stairs.

My mom gasped. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

"Makin' eggs," I mumbled. "I'm hungry. You want some?"

"You're going to burn something down!" she shouted.

"No 'm not," I muttered. "I cook all the time."

She said nothing for a minute, as if trying to grasp the idea that I was cooking. Well…I guess not many teenage guys do cook. Especially ones who can't see.

"Um…yeah…yeah, I'll have some," she finally said.

She walked into the kitchen and slumped into a chair. "How long have you been cooking?" she asked finally.

I took the steaming eggs off the stove and over to her. "For as long as I've had food to cook."

"How many eggs did you make??" she exclaimed.

"Eight."

There was a pause as I put the eggs on the table.

"I'll get silverware," she offered and got up. I sat in her chair and waited for her before I started eating. At the very least, one thing we learned form Anne was not to eat with our fingers. Not that we ever listened. But I decided to wait for the five whole seconds it would take her, anyway.

For once, we had a normal conversation. I found out that I was more like my mom than my dad. And apparently, my mom was a late sleeper, too. We conveniently kept the subject away from me and on her. After all, the awkward topics were only because of me.

Mom said I was a good cook and she wouldn't mind showing me some tricks she knew, along with family recipes and stuff. It seemed like things would actually be…normal. Like I could really live like a normal person. Like life could truly be just…normal. It almost made me forget about the flock, and the school and the whitecoats, for now. Almost.

"So where's Dad?" I asked as she was changing the sheets on her bed while I stood there (okay, I'm not the best son in the world, give me a break, I'm new at this).

"Work."

I nodded. After a silence, I said, "Well…where does he work?"

She paused. "An…office."

"That sounds interesting," I lied.

More silence. I usually liked silence – I could hear things better. But it's the most annoying thing in the world when you're trying to have a conversation.

"I'm gonna go outside," I said. "Fresh air."

I left. I went out to the front lawn and just laid down in the grass. The sun beat down, rays of heat warming my skin, while the grass underneath cooled me. The neighborhood moved gently around me, a car driving past once in a while, some kids playing a game a little way down the block. Is this what normal life was? I liked it. It was very relaxing.

The next-door-neighbors, the ones I was listening to argue last night, were outside. Just one was. He (or she) was moving around the yard. Some kids wolf-whistled as they skateboarded down the sidewalk.

"Yeah, you want it!" the neighbor shouted. Okay, a girl.

More birds were twittering. I again imagined five or six birds flying around, a little flock, alone in the world, just looking out for each other.

"Hey, you!" the neighbor shouted. At first I ignored her, but then she said, "Blondie! I'm talking to you!"

I sat up.

"Get over here."

Please tell me this isn't an Eraser, or something School-related. I could do with anything but that right now.

I took my time and warily walked to her, stopping about three feet from where she was breathing.

"Hey," she said casually. What, she called me over to say 'hey'? Weirdo.

"Hi."

"What's your name?" she asked.

Okay, so, do I lie, give her James or Iggy? Lying wouldn't do any good, not if she was my new neighbor, and I didn't like James so…

"Iggy."

"Iggy? What're you doing around here?"

I snorted. "Well, that's neighborly of you."

"Neighborly?" She paused. "What, you my new neighbor?"

"Do you live here?" I asked.

"Um…yeah…"

"Then yes."

"What, did the Griffiths move out?" she asked confusedly. "I don't remember a truck…"

"No, they're not going anywhere."

She paused again, as if figuring something out. "Wait – are you living with the Griffiths?"

Oh, a real bright one.

"Yeah."

She laughed a little. "I was wondering how long it would be before they got over it. Finally decided they'd get themselves a replacement kid instead of mourning over a baby they didn't even know for a day. Kind of funny."

I leaned in to her, coming closer to her face. "I don't look like the Griffiths to you?"

She paused, scrutinizing me, I guess. "Actually, you kind of do."

I shook my head. Oh, yeah, a really brilliant one.

"I am their son," I bluntly told the thick-skulled girl. "Their real son. The one they lost when he was born."

"Really?" she asked in wonder. "Their son? Wow, I thought the baby was dead. Everyone but the Griffiths did, but I figured they were in denial. So…" she continued, "where've you been for the past fourteen years, if you're really their son?"

So now, do I tell her and make her think I'm a lunatic, lie, or not tell her? I didn't want her to think I was a lunatic, especially since she might be hot, and there was no good in lying so…

"Long story."

"Well, I've got time," she replied easily.

"And I don't want to talk about it."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. She broke it by saying, "You're…different."

I jumped. "What's that mean?"

"I dunno," she said lightly, "but every guy I see always at least looks my way, if they're not hitting on me." Oh man, then she was hot. Score! "But you didn't even look at me. Not even with what I'm wearing." Great, now I wish I knew what the heck she was wearing. I could only imagine… "The way I figure it, either you're really religious and don't believe in that stuff, you're dating a girl you're really loyal to, or you just don't care."

Wait – it wasn't incredibly obvious I was blind? Then again, she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

"You're wrong," I told her. "All three are wrong."

"Yeah? I can't think of anything else."

Just for the sake of it, I leaned in close until I felt her breath on my face. And that felt really nice. "I'm blind. I can't look at you."

"You're not blind," she said solidly, and surely. Oh yes, let's go deny it, shall we. "Blind people's eyes are messed up and weird looking. Your eyes are perfectly crystal blue…"

…Did she just say I have nice eyes?

"Not all the time. Something can look like it's working and still be broken. Swear to god, I can't see."

She stopped for a second before I felt air gently wash past me in strokes, the smell of nail polish suddenly intoxicating my nose. She's waving her hand in front of me. Because that's not stereotypical at all.

In the distance, I faintly heard my mom calling me. Let her call. This was fun.

"Huh," she muttered. "You are blind."

"Definitely."

"Wow. I'm sorry. I don't remember them saying anything about the baby being blind…"

"I wasn't blind when I was born," I told her.

My mom's calls were getting louder. "James!" I heard her shout.

"Your mom's calling you," the girl said. I nodded.

"James, where are you?" my mom called.

"In the yard!" I shouted back. Where I said I'd be.

"We're going out now," she said, coming into the yard. The girl walked away from me, her feet softly brushing the grass. "To buy you a bed."

I nodded.

As we climbed into the car, something occurred to me. I don't even know her name.