The Pretenders

by Rebecca Hanover

  I long to tell Ollie everything. At breakfast one early October morning, a Saturday, he slides into the bench next to me. Pru is on my other side, and Maude and Ansel are across from us.

  “Uh-oh,” Pru says, nudging me in the side.

  “What? Do I even want to know?” I ask, my mouth full of egg whites.

  “Probably not.” She points to the side wall of the dining hall, where Harlowe and her friends are hanging up flyers. DAAM flyers, soliciting new members for the Darkwood Academy Anti-Cloning Movement. I feel a sickening lurch in my stomach. Of course, I’m not surprised; Harlowe was protesting with Madison on the first day of school. She made it clear how she feels about the Similars, and clones in general, that night she pulled that renegade hazing stunt. I’d hoped the Similars’ warning would scare her off. Apparently, it didn’t.

  “Attention, Darkwoodians,” Principal Fleischer’s voice rings out over the dining hall. Ollie and I look over to see her standing in front of the wide double doors. Pru and the Similars follow our gaze. “I have some unfortunate news to relay. Headmaster Ransom is still unwell. He will not be returning to Darkwood this academic year.” Students start whispering and reacting, but before they can get too many words in, Fleischer barrels on. “Do not despair. You will not lack for proper leadership. In his absence, an interim head will be taking over.”

  An interim head? I feel instantly nervous, hoping it won’t be someone who will make life miserable for the Similars.

  “Please give a warm welcome to our temporary headmistress,” Fleischer continues. Her voice sounds anything but warm, but then again, she’s probably bitter she wasn’t promoted to the post herself. “Jane Ward.”

  I turn to Ollie, sure my surprise is written across my face. His mom is the interim head of Darkwood?

  I strain to catch a glimpse of Jane, who has entered the far side of the cafeteria. I notice the contrast between this year and last, how her thin frame looks noticeably healthier than it did last year when she was grieving the loss of her son, and she’s smiling as she takes the mic from Principal Fleischer. I can’t imagine two more dissimilar people. Jane, who has been like a surrogate mother to me all these years, and Fleischer, who has been helping Ransom with his abhorrent experiment.

  “Thank you, Principal Fleischer,” Jane says into the mic.

  “Did you know about this?” I ask Ollie under my breath.

  “Yes, but she swore me to secrecy.”

  I almost call him out for not telling me, before I realize how hypocritical that would be.

  “Wait, I thought your mom got a business degree,” Pru whispers.

  “She did,” Ollie answers. “She was a teacher before that.”

  “I’ll keep this short,” Jane says. “I’m saddened by the news of Headmaster Ransom’s illness, but I’m pleased I can be of service to the school. I attended Darkwood as a young woman, and some of the best memories of my life were made here. I also managed to get into quite a bit of trouble that ended in my fair share of duty,” she adds. “I’m looking forward to shepherding all of you through this year, bearing in mind Darkwood’s founding tenets: loyalty, excellence, identity, and inclusion.” Her eyes settle on the bulletin board boasting the DAAM flyers.

  “I’ll admit I have an ulterior motive,” Jane continues, and I think I hear a tremor in her voice. “As you may know, I had the scare of my life last year. I am immeasurably grateful that my son has been returned in full health to me, and to his life here at school. I’m sure you can’t blame me for wanting to keep a close eye on him.” Students smile, and a few clap. “Oliver, forgive me, but I couldn’t bear to be so far away from you, not when I just got you back.” There are cheers now from students all around us. Ollie smiles and gives a little wave.

  “Will we have to call her Headmistress Ward?” I joke to him and Pru.

  “I think I’ll stick to ‘Mom,’” Ollie mutters.

  Jane ends her speech with some final words. “I’ll leave you to finish your breakfast. Don’t hesitate to stop by my office at any time, with questions, concerns, or constructive feedback. Not on the food, though; I have no control over the in vitro meat,” she adds lightly, garnering another round of laughs from the student body. Principal Fleischer plasters on a tight smile.

  I’m not sure what reactions I’m expecting from our table. Pru’s happy about the arrival of Ollie’s mom as interim head. Indeed, it feels like a small victory that Ransom has been replaced by someone I respect so highly. Ransom’s opposite, really. The Similars, however, seem intently focused on their food. Maude’s looking down at her plate. Ansel’s staring at his plum. It’s obvious why—because of how things were left between Jane and Levi, the last time Jane was at Darkwood and learned Levi had played a pivotal role in duping her and Booker out of their stock in Ward, Inc. As far as I know, Levi and Jane haven’t spoken since. I feel a longing to explain to her why Levi did what he did, why he was so conflicted about the task that Gravelle, his only family, had given him. But since Ollie’s return near the end of the school year, I haven’t mentioned Levi to Jane once. Not when Ollie, Jane, and I returned home to California, and not at all over the summer. It feels wrong to, like it would hurt her. It also feels like a betrayal of Levi, because he wouldn’t want me speaking on his behalf. So I haven’t.

  The next thing I know, Harlowe has taken the mic from Principal Fleischer. “I have an announcement, y’all,” she says, her eyes flitting over the dining hall. “The Darkwood Academy Anti-Cloning Movement will be holding a new-members meeting tonight at eight o’clock. I assure you, you won’t want to miss it. See you tonight in the main house common room. Later,” she says, handing the mic back to Fleischer.

  I shoot Maude a look. We both know Ransom granted DAAM a charter last year. But with him gone—can Jane revoke it? As interim head, will she have that kind of power? Maude stands up abruptly. “Excuse me,” she calls out. “I also have an announcement. Sorry to interrupt your meals once again, folks,” Maude says evenly. “But there’s one more meeting that members of the Nine need to know about. Midnight session, tonight. In the Tower Room of Cypress.” Maude scans the room, and I see her eyes land on Harlowe. “Oh, I almost forgot. The time.” Maude pauses for dramatic effect. “Eight o’clock.”

  Harlowe stops talking. She whips her head around, staring daggers at Maude. I can barely hold back my smile.

  “Harlowe will have to go to the midnight session instead of the DAAM meeting, right?” Pru asks, ripping off a piece of bagel. “Or she’ll forfeit her spot in the Nine?”

  “Yup,” I answer, feeling vindicated. I’m not even thinking about the fact that Maude’s thrown down the gauntlet. Or that the girl across the room who hates clones has just been shown up by one, in front of the entire school. I’m not thinking about that—but I should be.

  Ollie snags his mom after breakfast. She hugs both of us, and when I’m in her arms, I notice how much stronger she’s grown, even since the summer.

  “Hi, kids.” She smiles, resting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

  “Way to cramp your son’s style during his senior year of high school,” Ollie mutters. “You realize I’m the only kid at boarding school, probably ever, to have his mommy there with him?” Ollie crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child, but I know, deep down, that he doesn’t mind. And after the year he’s had—she’ll be a built-in support system for him.

  “Sorry.” She shrugs, but her eyes are shining, and she looks so happy, it’s hard for me not to smile too. “Couldn’t help myself. When word got around that a temporary head was needed, I jumped on the chance.”

  “And Chloe and Lucy?” Ollie asks.

  “Your sisters and I are going to try our hand at Vermont living,” Jane says as she starts to walk toward the exit. Ollie and I follow her steps outside to a wooded path. “I’ve enrolled the twins in a local school,
and we’ve rented a cottage a few miles from here. It’ll be an adventure, won’t it?”

  “But what about—”

  “Booker will fly in when he can. He doesn’t mind, honey. Coming here will be a nice break from everything he’s dealing with.” I know she means Ward, Inc. and the disaster that is Gravelle’s influence over their family’s company. “After you graduate, we’ll go home. It’ll be easier this way. Over fall break, I’m taking you on an East Coast college tour. NYU. Vassar. Cornell. Emerson. BU. Emma—you’re welcome to come along, if you’d like?” We’ve stopped walking and are standing by the shore of Dark Lake, staring out at its opaque waters. Ollie looks thoughtful. Pensive, I guess.

  “Thanks,” I answer quickly. “But I need to use the time off to work on my college apps.” I leave mother and son to catch up, sprinting back down the path to my dorm room. I feel a lightness in my chest that’s been missing since I returned to school. I know it’s because of Jane’s unexpected arrival. Before Ollie died—before we thought he died, anyway—Jane had always filled some small portion of the hole left in my heart by my mother’s absence. That hole feels a little less gaping now.

  Suddenly, I feel an intense wave of remorse. Here I am, allowing myself to feel safe and happy when Levi is there, with that man. Hot tears threaten to fall as I change my course, heading not toward Cypress after all, but down the secluded path to the boathouse. I’m not thinking, only moving.

  Ten minutes later, I burst through the brush and trees to stand in the exact spot where Levi and I spent our duty, exactly one year ago. As I stare at the boathouse doors, at the peeling paint we never did rectify, I remember the scream. Pru’s scream. And how, with Pru’s attack, everything changed. I saw glimpses of Levi’s kindness as he carried Pru to campus. I think I fell in love with him a little bit that day, and every day after, even if I only admitted it to myself much later.

  I’ve run here faster than I meant to, and my heart is pounding wildly in my chest. Still, I keep going. I pull open the stiff wooden doors of the boathouse and clatter inside, past the row of canoes and the racing shells lined against the walls. I’m on a mission—to do what, I’m not sure. All I know is I don’t want to stop, to rest and feel the weight of it, of my sadness for Levi, of my acute longing to kiss and touch him and feel the electrifying rush of his skin on mine. My eyes race over the room as I spot what I’m looking for: stairs at the far end. They lead up to a loft. I’ve never been up them and have no idea what’s stored up there. I begin to climb the rickety stairs. A window waits for me at the top. I wrench it open, brushing cobwebs away, and peer out.

  Below me is the ground, ahead of me is the pearly Dark Lake, and beyond is the edge of the boathouse roof. Perfect.

  I duck under the windowsill, crouching low to force my body through the small opening. Once my feet are firmly on the roof, I stand, feeling all of a sudden reckless and oddly brave. My heart’s battering wildly against my rib cage, and I’m a whole story up from the ground, feeling dangerously free and untethered. Somehow I’m closer to Levi in this moment than I have been since I left him. Like there’s some kind of inexplicable connection between us. Me, here, alone on the roof. Him, there, alone on the island. Maybe he’s doing, and thinking, the exact same thing I am. In this moment, I feel so desperate to see him, to feel him, to be near him. I don’t think I realized it until now, but I long to see Levi again the same way I long to know who I am—if I’m a Similar, just like him. If we have in common this one, gigantic piece of our pasts. I feel like I owe it to him to find out.

  I jump.

  Tensions

  I’m falling through the air. I know I won’t die; the boathouse roof isn’t that high up. Only a story. But still. The likelihood is that I’ll break a bone, maybe two. And yet, there’s something so freeing about jumping from this roof. Like I’m leaping, unavoidably, toward my fate, my future, and—wrapped up in that like a big, tangled mess of twine—my past.

  I’m halfway to the ground when I accept that I’ve made a massive mistake. My hands fly up to protect my head, and my stomach feels like it’s being ripped out of my body as I land with a sickening crunch on my right side. I hear something twist and snap, and the wind’s been knocked out of me. Adrenaline must be kicking in, because I only vaguely hurt, and I remember this is how I felt when I leaped from Harlowe’s car. I know I’ve done something incredibly stupid. At least I’m alive.

  I’m able to sit up. There’s no blood, which is something. After taking stock of my limbs, I pull up my pant leg to assess the damage to my throbbing right leg. There’s an enormous bruise spreading over my ankle, which is swollen and red. It’s probably sprained, but judging by how tender it feels, there could be a hairline fracture as well. I grimace as I try to put weight on it. I can stand, and so I do, gingerly testing my weight to see if I can walk back to campus.

  I hear something. A rustling in the trees by the shoreline. My eyes dart in the direction of the noise, and I spot the outline of a figure there. Someone who’s been watching me. Someone who probably saw me jump.

  “Hello?” I call out. I don’t get an answer back. By the time I’ve hobbled over to where the noise came from, there’s no one there.

  Wincing as I begin the walk back up to campus, I chide myself for acting so recklessly. What was I thinking, throwing myself off a roof like that?

  You were thinking you wanted to see if you’d be hurt. If your injuries would heal quickly. You were thinking you’d test, once and for all, your capabilities. To see if you have the same regenerative properties as the Similars.

  By the time I make it back up to main campus, a good ten minutes later, my ankle doesn’t hurt anymore. When I pull up my pant leg, the bruise and swelling have almost entirely healed. It’s as if I never jumped off that roof at all.

  • • •

  I stay in my room until the midnight session at eight o’clock, only briefly stopping by the dining hall to grab dinner. I avoid my friends by waiting until the last second to slip in and fix a plate. I’ve done nothing but study my ankle, which is now completely fine.

  I splash water over my face before the midnight session, in hopes that no one will be able to tell I’ve been crying. When I arrive, I slip into a seat between Maude and Theodora and wait for the other members of the Nine to filter in. They do, but it’s clear Harlowe’s pissed, and her friends, Ivy and Graham, take seats without making eye contact. I’m barely able to concentrate on the meeting, not with my mind spinning over confirmation of what I’ve suspected. I’m a clone.

  The evidence is staring me in the face, and yet it’s too big to grasp. I was born on Castor Island. I lived there, raised by British nannies, till I was three. I lived there with my friends, and with Levi. Which means Levi and I weren’t strangers when we met last year. We’d known each other as kids.

  And my father has lied to me for fourteen years.

  I debate pulling the Similars aside after the meeting, telling them everything.

  Why not? They would understand. They would welcome it—you. Wouldn’t they?

  But I don’t want to tell them. Not yet. Not before I’ve figured out what this means for me. Besides, there’s only one person I want to tell, and he isn’t here. Levi.

  Maude takes her time with the meeting, plotting out a strategy for the school year that includes mentoring new students and setting up fund-raisers for charitable causes. She’s dragging this out for as long as possible; Pippa and Theodora are in on the joke too, raising their hands to ask tangential questions. With each one, Harlowe grows angrier, finally standing up to declare that she has somewhere else to be.

  “I haven’t dismissed you yet, Harlowe,” Maude says coolly.

  Harlowe flounces back down in her seat but doesn’t get up again until Maude officially ends the meeting at ten o’clock. I don’t know if the DAAM meeting happened without Harlowe there, or if she’ll simply reschedule it. Still, Mau
de made her point already in the dining hall, in front of the whole school. She won’t tolerate Harlowe’s bigotry. She’s the leader of this group. Not Harlowe.

  The next morning, Pru wakes me up after a fitful night of tossing and turning. “Emma,” she says, tapping me on the shoulder. “Emma! Wake up!”

  I turn over and see her peering down at me. She’s still in her pajamas, and when I glance at the clock, it says it’s 7:00 a.m. It’s Sunday morning, so I can’t imagine why she’d wake me up so early.

  “Pru, I love you tremendously, so I say this with all due respect,” I mumble. “WTF?”

  “Look at this.” She shoves her tablet at me. It’s opened to the school blog, The Daily Darkwood, a site where students can post essays and articles and opinion pieces. I take the tablet in hand and scan the headline she’s pointing to.

  CLONES AT DARKWOOD, DUBBED “SIMILARS,” MAY NOT BE HUMAN

  I pause on those inflammatory words, large and in all caps.

  “Read it.” Pru sighs, directing me to the article below it. I look to see who the author is. The byline reads Harlowe Shaw. My eyes narrow. I begin to read.

  Fellow Darkwoodians, it is with shock and despair that I write this blog post, a public service announcement of sorts, to inform you of something troubling I’ve discovered in the past few weeks at our beloved school.

  First, some context. At the beginning of last year, we welcomed the Similars into our school and into our lives. Since then, we’ve gone above and beyond to be tolerant. We’ve given them the benefit of the doubt and every consideration. We’ve allowed them to join our clubs. We even accepted one of them as leader of this year’s prestigious Ten—sorry, Nine. We’ve broken bread with them and trusted them in our sacred spaces—our classrooms, our sports teams. But perhaps that trust was misguided.