The Similars (The Similars #1)(22)
It’s open seating, so I claim a desk close enough to Theodora to see what she’s doing. I watch as she pulls out a notebook and begins writing in it with a neat, steady hand. Her handwriting is crisp and beautiful. She must have made a concerted effort to learn script, unlike the rest of us who were educated at American schools, where cursive is pretty much obsolete. Maybe all the Similars had to learn cursive where they grew up. What was that place like? I haven’t given it much thought until now. All I know is what’s been reported in the news: the Similars had a wealthy guardian who raised them on his own private island. It was some kind of man-made seasteading property out in the middle of the ocean. The truth is, I really know nothing about the Similars except that they happen to share DNA with a few of my classmates.
I focus my attention back on Theodora. Despite her similarity to Tessa, they couldn’t be less alike in their style of dress. And Theodora’s hair, now even less like Tessa’s, is plainer, less glossy and more brown. Tessa’s hair must be professionally highlighted to look the way it does. I like Theodora’s natural color better.
Theodora pauses to glance out the window at Darkwood’s grounds. I recognize that look. She’s homesick. I never felt homesick at Darkwood, not as long as Oliver was here. Without him, it’s a different story. I look for him in the hallways where we studied together, laughed together, and ruminated on the meaning of life, and pizza, together. I don’t know anything about Theodora, but I can imagine how foreign this place must feel to her. I feel compelled to talk to her. To learn something else about her besides her hair is brown.
Before I can, my classmates start piling in, locating desks, and getting situated. Pru sits down and pulls her hair, wet from the shower, into a ponytail. She must have had an early crew practice. I feel bad. After that midnight session, she probably only slept a couple of hours before she had to get up. I only slept a few hours, too, but I’m a different story. Pru and I share a hello wave. Mr. Park is about to close the door when a final student slips inside, claiming the only remaining desk.
Levi. And the desk he claims is right next to mine. I don’t look at him. I don’t dare. But I feel his presence.
“Welcome back, friends and countrymen,” says Mr. Park, running a hand over his gray stubble. “This morning, I’d like to begin a yearlong discussion of current events, one that will be led by none other than…drumroll, please…all of you. Each week, I’ll encourage you to bring a news item to the proverbial table for a Monday morning scrum on the topic.”
I focus on Mr. Park. Anything to avoid looking at Levi. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Madison to my left and am instantly brought back to last night’s Ten initiation. It feels almost like a dream—or more accurately, a nightmare. This is one of the few classes that juniors and seniors take together, depending on their course schedules. Just my luck to end up in here with her.
“Let’s not dillydally,” Mr. Park continues. “Who would like to begin?”
A hand shoots up. It belongs to Madison. Mr. Park nods. “Go ahead, Ms. Huxley.”
“Two clones were detained trying to cross from Mexico into Texas,” Madison reports. “It was on the feeds at breakfast. They were college students, and they didn’t have updated identification. So, naturally, they were held at the border.”
Hearing these words leaving Madison’s mouth, my pulse speeds up. Heat begins to rise from my feet to my head as I take in what Madison’s just said. And not only what she’s said, but the tone in which she’s said it. She really believes those college students should have been held at the border? Anger bubbles inside me. But before I can speak up, Mr. Park cuts in.
“Can anyone tell me why the great state of Texas would ask to check the documentation for the two people in question?” he asks.
Another hand shoots up. It belongs to a boy named Henry Blackstone. “Because the government requires it of certain people, if they weren’t born here.”
“But they were born here,” Pru interrupts before I can say something myself. She’s as incensed as I am. Of course she is. “I saw that story; we all did—”
“I meant conceived,” Henry corrects himself. “They weren’t conceived here.”
“They’re U.S. citizens,” Pru insists. “They were born here and raised here, like you and me. And they went on a trip. A vacation to Mexico. And when they tried to return home, to their home country, they were told they needed extra documentation that other people are not required to carry. It’s totally unfair and wrong. It’s discrimination, plain and simple.”
“That may all be true, but you’re conveniently leaving out one key detail,” Madison interjects. “They’re clones. Their parents used illegal reproductive technology to create them twenty years ago. The documentation is for their own protection, because so many people have a fundamental problem with clones.”
“I don’t know anyone who has a problem with clones,” I blurt. “Oh, no, wait. There’s you.”
Madison shoots me a nasty look but doesn’t have time to respond, because Pru is reacting too.
“Believe me.” Pru crosses her arms over her chest. “That documentation is not for their own protection.”
“You’re right,” Henry pipes up. “It’s not just for their protection; it’s also for ours.”