“Just you,” I respond, letting my eyes drift to the crowd. I don’t know most of these kids, but I spot Theodora, Maude, and Jago’s faces. I know it’s them and not their originals by the way they dress and by their stern, solemn expressions.
“Levi,” Maude warns, her voice commanding and in control. Levi doesn’t look at her. His stare is glued to me.
“I don’t want to see you,” I finally say.
“So leave.” Levi shrugs. “I doubt anyone would mind.” He gestures to our audience, like they’re welcome to confirm his statement.
“I don’t think you understand me,” I seethe. “You can’t be here. You can’t walk around here with that face. It’s not okay.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. Levi chuckles a little. It’s hard to make sense of how I can simultaneously love and hate one face so much.
“If you’re asking me to wear a ski mask, check the Darkwood handbook,” Levi says. “Page one hundred thirty-seven. Dress Code. Second paragraph, fourth line. Prohibited item number forty-two: ski masks or other masks that cover the face.”
Prohibited item number forty-two? Is this kid serious?
“That’s not in the dress code. You’re making it up.”
“Can you prove it, Emma? Besides, a ski mask is assuredly inappropriate classroom attire, whether it is against the dress code or not.”
“I’m not asking you to wear a ski mask. I’m asking you not to be here. I don’t want to see or hear you ever again. So if you have to hide in the shadows or leave this school or jump off of Hades Point, do whatever is necessary. Just. Don’t. Exist.”
I go. Without a look back at Maude or Theodora or Jago or anyone else, I walk away. As I do, I hear whispers. Some kids are saying I’ve lost my mind. Others don’t blame me for being angry.
“That Levi’s cold,” whispers one girl to her friends. I push past her, fighting the tears in my eyes. “How can someone be so heartless?”
Another group of students thinks the Similars were abused, or tormented, or at least brainwashed.
“Did you see those two, the ones who look like Jake and Madison? They’re a couple,” a tall, skinny boy remarks. “They grew up like a family. It’s unnatural, if you ask me.”
I have to get out of here. To my room, where I can be alone. By the time I reach Cypress, it’s nearly twilight. I climb into bed.
“Dash, buzz my father, please.”
Dash’s voice rings out. “I have buzzed your father, but he is unavailable.”
“Shocking,” I mutter.
“Would you like to leave him a message, Emma?”
I pause to get my bearings. What do I want to say to my father, anyway? What can he even do about this? About Levi? About any of it? “Sure. Okay.” I pull my comforter around me. I’m shivering. “Dear Dad. This buzz is going to suck, so I’ll just come out and say it. It feels like Oliver died again today. He has a clone. A Similar. Some person named Levi. Oh, sh—don’t tell anyone. Remember we signed that nondisclosure agreement before school started? We’re supposed to keep the Similars’ identities confidential. Anyway, I’m sure you’re probably going to tell me to be strong, but I can’t… Can I come home? Please thank Genevieve for packing my slippers. Love, Emma.”
“Oliver has a clone?” Dash chimes in. “Oh, Emma. When did you find out? How did this happen?”
“Dash,” I interrupt, more forcefully than I mean to. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Of course, Emma. I don’t mean to pry. This news is unexpected. It’s a lot to process. I must admit, it is causing me to feel sad.”
Great. Even my plum feels sorry for me. I don’t remember when it first started, but Dash has been displaying more and more emotion lately, grappling with a lot of humanlike feelings. Probably all part of his programming, but still. I rely on him to be my rock. I’m not sure I like this new and improved version of my bot.
“Thanks, Dash.” I sigh. “That’s all.”
I pop one more pill and go to sleep, even though it’s only six o’clock, and by some miracle, or maybe because the pharmas are doing their job, I don’t dream.
* * *
In the dining hall that evening, they sit together: Jago, Ansel, Maude, and Theodora. Of course, Levi’s there too. I can’t see his face as Pru guides me into the cafeteria, but I burn inside knowing he’s there.
This is exactly why I’d wanted to stay in my room, in bed, with the door firmly closed. But Pru had woken me after a measly half-hour nap and dragged me to the dining hall.
“Couldn’t you just let me stay in bed till the morning?” My feet feel like lead as I follow my roommate to the food line. For once, I’d actually fallen asleep without tossing and turning. I might have even gotten in a full two hours before waking up in a sweat like I always do, my mind on Oliver…and now, Levi.
“Nope,” Pru answers. “They’re announcing strata tonight. I can’t let you sleep through one of the most important nights of your high school career!”
“Says you,” I answer with a sigh. She’s right, of course. This night is a big one for the junior class. We’ll find out our rank and whether we’ll be part of the Ten.
“And excuse me for caring about you,” Pru adds, “but you have to eat. Come on, let’s get some in vitro steak.”
The Darkwood cafeteria harkens back to another time, another world. Vast wooden tables stripe the rectangular space, a chandelier dangling over each one. The only area of the room that doesn’t scream premillenium is the eight-by-eight-foot multidimensional view space that hangs high on the opposite wall, projecting feeds, which are our main tie to the world off campus. Of course, everything displayed there is censored by Ransom. He decides which feeds we see and which we don’t, so I’m certain the news story playing now—a recap of the Similars’ arrival at Darkwood, or what little the world knows about it—has been thoroughly vetted.
I take my eyes off the feeds and step up to the buffet line. Today’s choice: lasagna or stew, both boasting the in vitro meat Pru mentioned. It may be advertised as cheaper and kinder, since it’s grown in a lab, but it’s definitely not tastier. As I reach for a bowl, I overhear two first-year girls whispering behind me about how I was best friends with Oliver Ward. About how I attacked his clone.
I wonder if Levi sees me. He hasn’t turned around or acknowledged I’m here. Surely Maude or Theodora has warned him I’ve arrived? I hope they do, and I hope he feels bad about it.
“Tell me if there’s something I can do,” Pru says, scooping lasagna onto her plate. “You know…to help.”
“Thanks, but I can’t think of anything. Unless you can rearrange atoms. More specifically, the atoms of somebody’s face.”
“I don’t think we’ll get that far in honors physics,” she hedges. “But I can check my syllabus.”
I offer my friend a forced smile. “Thanks. Hey,” I say, eager to change the subject. “Where’s Pippa?”
I didn’t see Pru’s clone sitting with the others. My gaze swings back to their table, and I’m right. No Pippa.
“She wanted to sit with me. With us. Is that okay?” Pru asks.
I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t tell Pru that I’m eager to talk to Pippa and find out how much she and my roommate resemble each other. Not in looks, obviously, since I’ve already seen Pippa and know that she and Pru are identical, with only a few small differences. But how alike are their personalities? Their interests? Their mannerisms? I scan the room for Pippa, and my gaze lands on the Similars’ table again. Only now do I notice that I’m not the only one staring. Kids at nearly every table are looking over at the Similars, though many try not to show it. With the clones seated together like this, it’s as if Darkwood gained a second “it” crowd. Their originals—Madison, Jake, Tessa, and Archer—also sit at their usual table, flanked by an entourage of their loyal fans. These four have always been
Darkwood royalty, with kids going to extreme lengths to try to break into their group. Though they still have their core followers, everyone else is far more interested in the Similars.
As Pru and I squeeze by the originals’ table, Madison’s voice projects over the din of the crowd, like she wants people to hear her. “They aren’t celebrities, Archer. They’re freaks. There’s a big difference.”
“Watch it,” he teases. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
Madison balks. “Your brother? You’ve got to be kidding me. Ansel isn’t your brother, he’s a genetic mistake—”
“I don’t know, Maddy. I’m pretty excited he turned up. I have three younger sisters. Sure, me and my dads keep things pretty balanced at our house, but I can’t wait for Ansel to come visit. We’ll totally have the advantage at Casa de Leon.”
Jake scoffs. “Speak for yourself. Jago might have the Choate DNA, but he does not fit in with our family. He’s always reading. It’s like he doesn’t know the feeds exist.”
“Let’s go,” says Pru, bumping my hip with hers. “Before we catch Jake’s nasty attitude.”
“Too late,” I mumble, following Pru to a table too close to both the Similars and their originals for my liking, and setting down my tray.
“Agreed. I feel fluish,” Pru jokes. “Maybe I’ll have to skip class.” I look up to see her settled across from me. How did she sit down so fast?
Except it isn’t Pru. It’s Pippa.
I watch as Pru—my Pru—slips onto the bench next to her Similar. It takes me a moment to adjust to seeing them together.
“Emma, this is Pippa,” Pru introduces us. “Pippa, Emma.”
I stare at Pippa. I can’t help myself. She is so similar to Pru, and yet so different. While Pru wears her uniform of athletic clothes, Pippa has on a prim gray cardigan, and the gold of her key peeks out from the collar of her trim blouse.
“Hello,” Pippa says, her voice even but guarded.
“Top ten crappiest days of your life so far, Pippa,” I say. “Go.” I feel like a fool as soon as the words have left my mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter, staring down at my tray. “I just wondered if today made your list. You know, because it certainly makes mine…” I know I’ve blown my first impression with Pippa. She probably thinks I mean her and her arrival at Darkwood. How could she know that I’m only doing what I can—anything I can—to forget about the boy across the room?
Pippa picks at her bread, and I take careful note of her fingers: slender, neat cuticles, no nail polish. She’s obviously the kind of person who takes care of herself, but who eschews current fashion.
“I think it might be one of his top ten most distressing and irksome days,” she says.
I almost choke on a spoonful of stew. “I’m sorry. Are you talking about him?” I turn in my seat, gesturing toward the Similars’ table.
“Levi?” Pippa replies. “Yes, I would assume that Levi is feeling anything but happy today. Having your friend Oliver’s face isn’t something he asked for. None of us asked for this—”
“Pippa,” Pru starts.
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I think Pippa will understand when I say, diplomatically, of course, that whatever Levi is feeling today, or any other day for that matter, I’m going to reserve the right to respectfully not give a damn.”
“I do understand,” says Pippa, her calm expression never leaving her face. “I wasn’t suggesting that you ought to feel differently. I simply bring it up as a matter of context. Whatever vexing day I might be having, Levi’s day has been far…crappier.”
I’m about to respond when a voice rings out over the dining hall. It belongs to Principal Fleischer. While Ransom, as headmaster, is Darkwood’s strategic leader and liaison to the administration, Principal Fleischer oversees our day-to-day operations. She stands at the opposite end of the room, a microphone clipped to her blazer. Thin, bony, unwavering in her authority, Principal Fleischer lives for the sole purpose of disciplining us. Most of us avoid interacting with her at all costs.
“Attention, Darkwoodians,” Principal Fleischer announces in her gravelly voice that reeks of inflexibility.
She doesn’t have to ask twice. Nearly everyone in the cafeteria drops their conversations. It’s clear the moment has arrived. We will find out our strata.
“Three weeks ago,” Fleischer continues, “as summer vacation was drawing to a close, the members of the incoming junior class completed a test. The results of that test will determine your individual rank, or stratum as we call it here at Darkwood. Your stratum will fall between one and ninety, with one being the highest and most desirable score, and ninety being the lowest and least desirable score.” Principal Fleischer turns to consult with the other teachers who stand in a line behind her, and Pru takes the opportunity to fill in the blanks for Pippa.
“The top five strata are automatically initiated into the Ten,” Pru explains.
“The Ten?” Pippa asks.
“Darkwood’s elite society. Last year’s top five juniors—now seniors—will stay on to mentor this year’s new members. Madison and Tessa were in it last year, so that’s why they’ll be in it again.”
“It’s also why they think they’re God’s greatest gift to humanity,” I add.
“What do the Ten do? What’s it for?” Pippa wonders.
“Good question,” I say. “According to the school, the Ten members are ambassadors of the school. They’re supposed to model the kind of behavior the administration would like to see in the rest of us…blah, blah, blah. But that’s really all I know. Whatever goes on in their meetings is kept hush-hush. Unless you nab a spot in the Ten, you won’t ever really know.”
“You and your friends—should I call them your friends?—took the test, didn’t you?” Pru asks Pippa.
“I think so,” Pippa responds. “There was an exam we had to complete before we left for the States. I guess that’s what it was.”
I look around the dining room, where every junior is either sweating bullets or trying to act cool. But the truth is, not a single one of us isn’t at least a tiny bit curious about the stratum rankings. Even me—though it’s not my own rank I care about. I’m simply curious to see how today will play out. For others, this announcement is a lot more significant. Sarah Baxter, a petite girl perched at Madison’s table, smooths her hair. She’s been vocal about wanting to join the Ten since the day she arrived at Darkwood and looks ready to jump out of her skin. At a table nearby, a junior named Harrison Portwright smiles like he’s getting ready to greet a bunch of fans.
“Harrison thinks he’s a shoo-in,” Pru whispers. “So does Sarah.”
“Then I hope they both get it. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t care less about being a part of that snobby society.” I add, “Plus, they supposedly meet at midnight. Who wants to go to a meeting then?”
Pru laughs and turns to her Similar. “Emma is literally the only student at Darkwood who feels that way. Everyone else is dying to join the Ten, but my best friend here would rather sleep.”
“Funny,” I remark. If only Pru knew how little I actually sleep anymore. If I were a part of the Ten, I’d have no trouble waking up for those meetings…
The three of us turn our attention back to Principal Fleischer. She motions to a few of the teachers, including Mr. Park, who hold boxes of envelopes. My classmates look ready to explode from anticipation. While the first years and sophomores look relieved they haven’t had to take the stratum test yet, the seniors appear bored, and some are visibly annoyed they have to sit through this. After all, their fate was sealed last year when their strata were determined. Darkwood was famously one of the first high schools in the country to stop ranking its seniors, a decision that was originally the school’s attempt at being different and standing out from the crowd. It was a way to reward students on its own terms, like the founders intended. Si
nce then, many other schools have followed suit. Darkwood didn’t get rid of the stratum ranking, though. I guess because the Ten is such a long-standing Darkwood tradition. Determined in our junior year, our strata ranks are the only standing that colleges will see.
“Make no mistake about it,” Principal Fleischer continues. “Darkwood’s ranking system is based on a highly scrutinized and painstakingly constructed test, one that gives each eleventh-grade student every opportunity to showcase his or her intelligence, talents, and skills. Every single junior has taken the test, and every single junior has the same chance of ranking in the top five.”
“Even the Similars?” a guy calls out from somewhere across the room.
“Yes,” Fleischer says, her gaze sharpening as she surveys all of us. “Even our newest juniors.”
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Madison says loudly. We all turn to stare at her, including Principal Fleischer. “Darkwood is the nation’s preeminent college preparatory school. Few others even come close to our college admissions statistics or National Merit Scholarships. If you’re here, it means you’re special. And if you’re one of the Ten”—she surveys her captive audience—“then you are part of our legacy. The Similars just got here. They didn’t even go to a real school before this—they were homeschooled,” she says with disdain, like it’s the worst fate imaginable. “I doubt any of them will make the top five, or even the top twenty, of the junior class.”
Madison folds her arms across her chest as reactions ripple through the crowd. Clearly some students agree with her. Others aren’t so convinced. I can’t even bring myself to look across the table at Pippa. My cheeks are burning, and I don’t want her to see how mortified I am. I want to tell her that I don’t agree with Madison, that I don’t share her opinion in the slightest. But before I can, Fleischer, who is ignoring Madison’s outburst, forges ahead. “Your teachers will hand out envelopes with your name marked on them. Inside the envelope is your stratum. Please come up for your envelope when your name is called. Do not—I repeat, do not—open your envelope until every single student in the class has received one.”
The Similars Page 4
