Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

around the space. “This is all mine because Adam got it for
me. But everyone else has to share. We have school, sort of.
And Benny brings me my food packages. Adam says I can
play with the other kids but I can’t bring them inside.” He
shrugs. “It’s okay.”
The reality of what he’s saying spreads like poison in the
pit of my stomach.
A street dedicated to orphaned children.
I wonder how their parents died. I don’t wonder for long.
I take inventory of the room and notice a tiny refrigerator
and a tiny microwave perched on top, both nestled into a
corner, see some cabinets set aside for storage. Adam
brought as much stuff as he could—all sorts of canned food
and nonperishable items. We both brought our toiletries and
multiple sets of clothes. We packed enough to survive for at
least a little while.
James pulls a tinfoil package out of the fridge and sticks it
in the microwave.
“Wait—James—don’t—” I try to stop him.
His eyes are wide, frozen. “What?”
“The tinfoil—you can’t—you can’t put metal in the
microwave—”
“What’s a microwave?”
I blink so many times the room spins. “What . . . ?”
He pulls the lid off the tinfoil container to reveal a small
square. It looks like a bouillon cube. He points to the cube
and then nods at the microwave. “It’s okay. I always put this
in the Automat. Nothing happens.”
“It takes the molecular composition of the food and
multiplies it.” Adam is standing beside me. “It doesn’t add
any extra nutritional value, but it makes you feel fuller,
longer.”
“And it’s cheap!” James says, grinning as he sticks it back
in the contraption.
It astounds me how much has changed. People have
become so desperate they’re faking food.