It’s happening again. I am hearing Jane’s thoughts, like she’s whispering them in my ear.
Oh god. Oh heavens, no…
“Jane?” I shoot up from my seat. Something’s obviously wrong. “What is it?”
Jane’s face falls as she looks down at an incoming buzz on her plum. “A clone was killed today. Two men attacked her on a subway platform in New York City. They chanted ‘go home, clone’ before stabbing her and running off. The men are still at large. I’m sorry, Emma, but—”
If anything happens to a single one of them, it will be on me…
“I’ll go,” I say quickly, heading to the door. As soon as I’m in the hallway, I bolt to the exit. I don’t know what to be more scared of, my own ability to see into Jane’s mind, or the fact a clone was killed…for being a clone.
When I find my friends in the dining hall, the feeds are already playing a news story about this brutal act. Jaeger Stanwick’s been invited to speak as an expert, and he calls for legislation that would protect clones, not endanger them. The faces of my friends go rigid as they take in this news. Jago grabs Maude’s hand. I want to search Levi’s face, but I avoid looking in his direction. I can’t right now. I’m not ready to face him.
“My dad’s returning to the Quarry,” Pru tells us, taking her eyes off the feeds. “He took a leave of absence, after my mom…” She looks at each one of us in turn. “The Quarry is ramping up its efforts. They say this is a full-blown crisis, and that the time is now to protect clones against this wave of bigotry. The hundred members and counting are dedicating themselves full time to the cause. Dad’s forbidden me to join until I’ve graduated,” she adds, scowling. “Apparently it was my mom’s dying wish that I get a Darkwood diploma.”
After lunch, Ollie and I walk back to our respective dorms. He’s rehashing all the details of his college trip—telling me for the third or fourth time since he got back that NYU’s film program is basically his whole reason for living. “You were right, Emma,” he adds. “I can’t go to USC just to stay close to my family. If I get into NYU…I’m going.” I’m so happy to see the smile in his eyes. But my own mind’s so far away. I heard his mother’s thoughts. That’s four people now: Harlowe, Ollie, Ransom, Jane. With a sense of dread, I wonder whose mind I’ll see into next. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. We turn a corner and almost walk straight into Harlowe, who’s handing out freshly printed DAAM flyers.
“Big rally coming up in March. There’s still room for volunteers.” She grins at me.
I snatch one of the flyers out of her hands, irate. I crumple the flyer in my fist, slamming my hand against the metal of the recycling bin as I try to discard it.
“Ow!” I gasp, clutching my throbbing hand. “That really hurt.”
Ollie takes my hand and cups it gently between his own. “You didn’t have to take it out on the poor, unsuspecting trash can, you know.”
I will away the tears that spring to my eyes. Tears not just of pain, but for the Similars, and clones everywhere.
I want to tell him. Not just that I’m a Similar, but everything.
Am I doing the same thing to Ollie that Levi did to me? Lying by omission because I can’t bring myself to tell him the information that could change everything between us?
Maybe that really is why Levi lied to you. Because he couldn’t bear to upend your entire world, in one fell swoop. Maybe it wasn’t his secret to tell.
Staring at Ollie now in the brilliant light of this cold December afternoon, I feel a rush of longing in my chest that’s hard to ignore. It’s not lost on me that this is the guy who’s always been there for me. Through thick and thin, tragedy and trauma, pizza and horror flicks. He’s the boy who would do anything for me. Who’d never lie to me. It pains me to compare him in my mind to Levi, and I know it’s not fair, but I do it anyway.
You’re lying to him too.
It’s not like I haven’t known this all year, or felt guilty about it. I’d convinced myself of the narrative that it wasn’t wise to confide in him before I had any proof. But now, as I think about that crumpled DAAM flyer in the recycling bin, I feel the weight of what I’m doing, heavy like an anvil. I’m keeping the most important secret of my life from him. Telling Levi didn’t give me any sense of closure or comfort, and now, in a way that’s hard to admit to myself, I wish I hadn’t.
You should have told Oliver.
“Ollie?” I say, as he rubs my fingers between his own. I’m not worried I’ve broken or even bruised my hand; the pain has completely subsided. Because of your properties. Because you’re a Similar. The only pain I feel right now is a distinct pang of guilt.
“Yep?” he asks as I pull my hand away, flexing my fingers to show him that I’m fine.
In a flash, I realize exactly what I have to do.
“I’m in the middle of a personal statement. I don’t wanna lose my train of thought,” I say hastily. “It’s for the common application, for most of the U.S. schools. Though…not for Oxford. I’m applying there too. Actually, I already have.” I breathe out those words, forcing myself to say them. I should be able to tell him that detail, at the very least. “It’s far,” I add, hoping the surprised look on his face won’t turn into disappointment. Or worse, hurt. “It’s really hard to get into, and it’s only one of a million places I’m applying, but… I thought you should know.”
Ollie grins. “I love Oxford.”
I frown. “You do? Since when?”
“Since forever. Haven’t you heard me talk about the documentary I want to make about British crime writers?” Ollie shrugs. “I talk about it all the time!”
“No, you don’t!” But I can’t help laughing.
“And who isn’t dying to try some authentic bangers and mash? Because me. I am.”
I smile, giving him a peck on the cheek before reminding him to work on his film reel for NYU. Then I go, returning to my room. On my tablet, I pull up my college essay, the one I started that was all about Levi, and really not suitable as a personal statement at all. I begin again, this time giving it a title. A little pretentious, I know, but I have a point to make. The title helps with that.
The Case for Clones
The first time I met a clone, I was mourning the death of my best friend, Oliver. At the time, I cared about little else besides my grief. That’s when I met Levi—Oliver’s exact DNA copy.
I wanted to hate Levi. I wanted to blame him for having Ollie’s face. It was more than that; I wanted to blame him for existing. Even though it wasn’t his fault he looked just like Oliver. It certainly wasn’t his doing; he was created from cells in a test tube, much like many babies are created and gestated these days, via fertility treatments and artificial wombs. No, it was not Levi’s fault that he looked just like the friend I missed, on a cellular level. Still, I couldn’t forgive him for doing something he had no control over—wearing my best friend’s face.
Then something happened. I got to know Levi. I got to know the boy behind the face. The boy who was kind and thoughtful and cleverer than anyone I’d ever met. He wasn’t perfect; far from it. He could also be aloof and frustrating and sarcastic. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t some perfect specimen who always did or said the right thing. He was human.
He was also completely different from my friend Oliver, in every way that counted. He had hard edges where Oliver was soft. His words could bite, while Oliver’s had usually comforted. Levi also knew pain that Ollie never did. He knew suffering, and he was strong because of it.
I realize now that I judged Levi—pre-judged him—and how unfair that was. Because little did I know that nearly eight months later, I would receive news that would change everything. Change the way I saw myself.
I, too, am a clone. Created in a test tube, gestated in an artificial womb. I grew up not knowing this, thinking my life was my own, when in reality, I was created to replace a little girl
who was dying. The original “Emma.” I still can’t wrap my head around what this means, or how it will change my life. I am still me, I know that much. I still feel the same things I felt before. Fear and hurt and, yes, joy. Perhaps I have a different name now, this name “Eden” that I’m told is on my birth certificate. But what makes me me at my core isn’t any different, just because I have the same DNA as another person, who lived and died.
What meaning lies behind the name “clone,” or “Similar,” if any at all? I’d argue that there is no meaning there, because, in the end, clones are humans, just like everyone else. We are individuals who are as different from their originals, on the inside, as any two people walking this earth. The clones at Darkwood—myself included—are kids. Teenagers worried about how they look and who they love and who loves them back. Nothing more, nothing less.
I know now why I hated Levi the first time I met him: it was because I was afraid. I was afraid that he’d take the place, in my heart, of Oliver. I feared him because I didn’t know what I know now—that Levi and Oliver are not the same person at all. That one could never replace the other, not for me. Just like I didn’t replace that little girl I was copied from. The fact that anyone ever thought I could was misguided at best, and dangerous at worst. All I shared with that other girl was some genetic coding. Some DNA. Just like Levi shares Oliver’s DNA. Which, when you think about it, makes them equally capable of love. Of kindness. And of being loved back.
The first thing I do is send a copy of this essay, which I’ll use as my personal statement for my college applications, directly to Ollie’s plum. I don’t stop to let myself think about what I’m doing—or change my mind. I add a note to the beginning of it:
Dear Ollie,
This is what I wanted to tell you earlier. I’ve known for a while. I guess it took me some time to come to terms with it. To accept it, and realize that I can’t deny it to myself anymore. I’m sorry I’m only telling you now. I hope you can forgive me.
Love,
Emma
Then I send the essay to The Daily Darkwood for immediate publication.
Confrontations
I walk into the dining hall the next morning like nothing’s different. Like I haven’t dropped the biggest bombshell this school’s seen since the Similars’ arrival. I went to bed last night without talking to anyone. Not Pru, not Ollie, and certainly not Levi or the other Similars. I have no idea how my friends will react to my admission, my confession that I’m one of them. Will they welcome me with open arms? Or will this mean nothing to them, because—like I said in my essay—the name “clone” doesn’t change anything about me, fundamentally? I still didn’t grow up with them. To them, I’m the girl who had a vastly different chance at childhood than they did. I know Ollie won’t believe it changes anything for us, even though I’ve worried all this time that it will. It’s hard for me to know what it means, really. It’s such a cosmic shift of my world. One I haven’t sufficiently processed yet. It could take me years to fully digest and to fully accept.
When I walk through the double doors of the dining hall, all eyes are on me. I’m used to this; I’ve given the student body a lot of reasons to stare at me over the last year. Still, today feels different. I’ve put myself out there in the most vulnerable way. I’ve officially stood up to Harlowe and her group of clone haters. I’m not proud of myself as much as I am relieved. Keeping this secret was eating me up inside. Now I feel lighter. Freer. Kids whisper as I move past: “That’s the girl who wrote the essay.” “That’s the girl who’s a Similar.” I don’t look directly at Harlowe’s table, but I feel her eyes on me. I know my essay is going to piss her off. She likely took it as a direct attack on her. Good. It was.
Pru hugs me as soon as I reach the table. I’m grateful for her, now more than ever. I scoot in next to her, making room for my tray, which I’ve filled with food I have no intention of eating. Not when my stomach is tied up in knots.
The other Similars are here, but not Ollie. Good. I can’t face them all at once. I don’t look at Levi, but I don’t need to. I force myself to look up at my friends. At Maude, Ansel, Theodora, Jago, and Pippa.
Heart hammering so hard and fast it feels like it will break my rib cage, I do the only thing I know how. I make a joke. “What? Did something happen last night? What did I miss?”
No one speaks. They all stare at me, silently.
“For the love of God, would someone say something?” I finally explode. “Yes! I’m a Similar. Gravelle told me at the end of last year, but I didn’t believe him. Not until I’d tested…certain hypotheses.”
Still, no one’s talking.
“Didn’t my essay for The Daily Darkwood cover it? That’s why I wrote it. And to put Harlowe and everyone else who keeps leaving you those threats in their place. Plus, it’s going to make a pretty kick-ass college essay—”
Before I know what’s happening, Pippa has run around the table to hug me. Maude too. Ansel smiles, and only Jago looks a little nonplussed, like he’s not sure how this news affects him. Theodora grins at me across the table.
“We knew you were special, Emma,” she says.
“Or should we say ‘Eden’?” Maude cuts in.
“No,” I correct her. “Don’t call me that. Please. I’m still…” I lower my voice when several first years stop right in front of our table and stand there, trays in hand, obviously eavesdropping. “I’m still coming to terms with all this.” Levi gets up from the table, claiming to need a utensil. I try not to let my gaze follow him. The last thing I need is to think about how angry I am at him, still, for keeping this secret from me.
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” Maude asks, lowering her voice so the first years can’t hear. They reluctantly move on from our table.
“No. Also…” I look around the dining hall for Ollie. “Have any of you seen Ollie this morning?”
They shake their heads.
“Uh-oh,” Jago announces to the table. He’s looking down at his plum. “You have a rebuttal.”
We all check The Daily Darkwood, where my essay has more than a thousand comments. I had no idea that after I posted it last night, a debate started raging and has been going strong all morning. Meanwhile, Harlowe has posted a rebuttal essay titled “But She’s Also a Clone.” She means me.
I don’t read it. I stand up, grabbing my tray. I have to find Ollie. He’s had time to read this, to process it, and now I need to stop being a coward. I need to talk to him in person.
On my way out, I run smack into Levi, returning with his fork.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I try to step around him. He does the same, and we end up at a standstill.
“Your essay,” he says quietly. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Things change,” I say, my voice tight. I’m quoting what he said to me his first day back here. I don’t wait to gauge his reaction. I go, on a mission to find Ollie.
He’s not in his room, or the library, or any of our usual spots on campus. So I head to the only other place I can think of—Jane’s office.
I knock softly and announce myself. “Jane? It’s Emma. Can I come in?”
The door opens, revealing Ollie, pacing and gazing out the window at Dark Lake. Jane’s behind her desk, looking a lot less like a headmistress and a lot more like the Jane I know and love.
“Hi,” I say to them both. It’s all I utter before Jane walks up and throws her arms around me, holding onto me like she doesn’t want to let go. I’m surprised; though I’ve always thought of Jane like a surrogate mom, I’ve never quite known where I stood with her.
“That was a brave thing you did, Emma,” she says, breaking the hug but still holding onto my shoulders.
“I wasn’t being brave,” I explain to her. “I was being honest.” My eyes flick to Ollie, standing there with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, surveying me.
I can’t read what’s on his face, and for the first time since that thing started happening and I began reading minds, I actually want it to happen so I can know what he’s thinking.
It doesn’t.
“Either way,” Jane goes on, her eyes still fixed on me. “I need you to know that I support you. As a friend—as your best friend’s mom, I support you—and as your headmistress, I stand by you. Interim or not.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, appreciating every word she’s saying, but still focused on Ollie. With each passing second, I grow increasingly worried about what his reaction will be. Why is he being so quiet? “Ollie,” I begin, not at all sure how I’m going to say this. “I couldn’t tell you last year. Not when I first got the note. Gravelle’s note. You had gone through the biggest ordeal of your life. You’d come back from the dead. It didn’t seem fair to tell you something that might have been fake. A lie. Another trick on Gravelle’s part. But then—things happened this year. I jumped out of Harlowe’s car. I lied to you, Ollie. That car was going fifty miles an hour. Maybe more.”
Jane starts to jump in here, a look of concern on her face, but I hold up a hand.
“I wasn’t hurt. I mean, I was, initially, but my scrapes healed so quickly. That was when I realized something was wrong. Or, maybe, right,” I fumble. “It’s taken me a long time to realize that while this changes everything—everything—I’m still me. Right? Ollie, please say something.”
His lips quirk up in a smile. I feel myself breathing out a sigh as he crosses the room to envelop me in his strong arms, pulling me to his chest, where I burrow my face into the soft wool of his sweater and don’t let go. “You’re still Emma to me. Always were. Always will be.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Aren’t you mad?”
“At Gravelle, for continuing to manipulate you? And all of us?” Ollie asks. “Hell yeah, I am. At you? Never.”
I let out a half choke, half sob of utter relief, then wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.
“I never knew the ‘original’ Emma,” Ollie muses, holding onto my shoulders and wiping a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “You are the only Emma I care about. Okay?”
The Pretenders Page 17
