manipulation, or some fluke of nature, I have no idea. Perhaps they chose my DNA from a scientist who resembled Lia in the basics, and then implanted characteristics to make me even more like her. I wish I could remember the scientist whose genes were used to create me. I wish I knew what my creator looked like. For that matter, I don’t even know what
Lia
looked like! Suddenly the desire to see her seems far more important than it should. An idea occurs to me.
“Michael, do you have any digitals of us?”
“Digis? Oh, sure. Let me see.” He goes to the wall control and types in a few commands. The starscape in the middle section blinks out and a series of images appear. Two kids—running across a lawn, riding bikes, seated at a table in front of a birthday cake. It’s the last image, though, that holds me spellbound.
Two kids sprawl across a porch swing caught in mid-motion. The swinging must have jarred the girl, for she looks like she’s going to fall off at any moment, her feet dangling and her arms flailing, her expression a mix of excitement and surprise. The boy is laughing as he clings to her waist, and I know without a doubt that she didn’t fall. He wouldn’t have let her.
A strange sensation wells up in my chest, and I find it hard to swallow. I shake it off and force myself to concentrate on the image. The boy is unquestionably Michael; even with the difference of seven years I can see that. So I shift my focus to the girl. Small, with long blonde hair and pale skin—in the basics, at least, we resemble each other. I can’t make out her eye color, but my gaze traces over the shape of her face, the length of her nose, the curve of her jaw. Our faces seem similar, but how similar I’m not sure. I wish I could look at myself in the mirror, make the same observations on my own face that I am on hers.
“This one was always my favorite, too.”
I glance over in surprise. There is a wistful look in Michael’s eyes, the like of which I haven’t seen on him before. Is he missing those days on Aurora? Or is he missing the girl in that image, instinctively knowing in his heart that she’s gone and will never come back?
“Would you have known me by looks alone?” I ask suddenly. “That first day on Seven, outside the bay. If you hadn’t seen my picture on the screen, I mean.”
Michael blinks. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” He looks at me for a minute and shakes his head. “I’m used to the way you look now. I can’t imagine you looking any different. Why? Do you think you’ve changed that much?”
Outwardly I shrug, but inwardly all I can think is—
Oh, Michael, if only you knew.
10 WE GATHER IN THE DINING room at Taylor’s call, sitting down at the table just as Teal finishes putting down the last of the silverware.
“I hope you like fettuccine,” Michael’s grandmother says as she sets a pot in the middle of the table between a bowl of salad and a basket of bread.
“I like everything,” I answer. Which isn’t exactly true, but isn’t exactly a lie either.
Michael snorts. “You don’t have to be so polite, Lia.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You like
everything?
” He raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. “Come on, Lia. I remember when you used to eat at our house on Aurora. You were the pickiest eater ever! My dad always used to say there were only two meals he could serve whenever you came over.”
I swallow hard, trying to think of an answer to cover my mistake. A gentle hand suddenly squeezes my shoulder.
“Sometimes people’s tastes change as they grow older,” Taylor remarks mildly. She squeezes my shoulder once more and lets go. We take our places, and Taylor asks Michael to say grace.
“Sure, Gran.” He holds out his hand to me, and surprised, I take it. Teal grabs my other hand and everyone bows their head as Michael begins. I keep my head down, but flick my eyes up to the circle around me as he speaks: Michael to Taylor to Teal to me
Lia
looked like! Suddenly the desire to see her seems far more important than it should. An idea occurs to me.
“Michael, do you have any digitals of us?”
“Digis? Oh, sure. Let me see.” He goes to the wall control and types in a few commands. The starscape in the middle section blinks out and a series of images appear. Two kids—running across a lawn, riding bikes, seated at a table in front of a birthday cake. It’s the last image, though, that holds me spellbound.
Two kids sprawl across a porch swing caught in mid-motion. The swinging must have jarred the girl, for she looks like she’s going to fall off at any moment, her feet dangling and her arms flailing, her expression a mix of excitement and surprise. The boy is laughing as he clings to her waist, and I know without a doubt that she didn’t fall. He wouldn’t have let her.
A strange sensation wells up in my chest, and I find it hard to swallow. I shake it off and force myself to concentrate on the image. The boy is unquestionably Michael; even with the difference of seven years I can see that. So I shift my focus to the girl. Small, with long blonde hair and pale skin—in the basics, at least, we resemble each other. I can’t make out her eye color, but my gaze traces over the shape of her face, the length of her nose, the curve of her jaw. Our faces seem similar, but how similar I’m not sure. I wish I could look at myself in the mirror, make the same observations on my own face that I am on hers.
“This one was always my favorite, too.”
I glance over in surprise. There is a wistful look in Michael’s eyes, the like of which I haven’t seen on him before. Is he missing those days on Aurora? Or is he missing the girl in that image, instinctively knowing in his heart that she’s gone and will never come back?
“Would you have known me by looks alone?” I ask suddenly. “That first day on Seven, outside the bay. If you hadn’t seen my picture on the screen, I mean.”
Michael blinks. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” He looks at me for a minute and shakes his head. “I’m used to the way you look now. I can’t imagine you looking any different. Why? Do you think you’ve changed that much?”
Outwardly I shrug, but inwardly all I can think is—
Oh, Michael, if only you knew.
10 WE GATHER IN THE DINING room at Taylor’s call, sitting down at the table just as Teal finishes putting down the last of the silverware.
“I hope you like fettuccine,” Michael’s grandmother says as she sets a pot in the middle of the table between a bowl of salad and a basket of bread.
“I like everything,” I answer. Which isn’t exactly true, but isn’t exactly a lie either.
Michael snorts. “You don’t have to be so polite, Lia.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You like
everything?
” He raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. “Come on, Lia. I remember when you used to eat at our house on Aurora. You were the pickiest eater ever! My dad always used to say there were only two meals he could serve whenever you came over.”
I swallow hard, trying to think of an answer to cover my mistake. A gentle hand suddenly squeezes my shoulder.
“Sometimes people’s tastes change as they grow older,” Taylor remarks mildly. She squeezes my shoulder once more and lets go. We take our places, and Taylor asks Michael to say grace.
“Sure, Gran.” He holds out his hand to me, and surprised, I take it. Teal grabs my other hand and everyone bows their head as Michael begins. I keep my head down, but flick my eyes up to the circle around me as he speaks: Michael to Taylor to Teal to me
Similar Books
