Not ready to leave the pulsing energy of the crowd at the end of my shift, I find a warm deck chair and relax to the happy noise of swimmers as I pull out my phone and use the camera as a mirror. This blond-haired girl with gray eyes doesn’t appear any different. But she has a date and is heading to a party, so what do I know?
I check out life in the virtual lane. On Chloe’s page, a bunch of messages offer get-well wishes. What a bummer to get sick when she’s so clearly in her element with the news videos. I start to add a note, but before I can, Chloe posts an update saying false alarm, she’s feeling great. I let out a breath. Her news relieves me more than it should.
Chloe then posts a video from Veggiefest along with a form for viewers to denounce GMOs. Hmm. She’s always spoken up for various causes, but I’ve never seen it go anywhere until now. The only way to describe it would be to say she’s more charismatic. A nagging suspicion creeps into my thoughts. My curiosity too strong to ignore, I send a message: LOVE WHAT YOU’VE BEEN UP TO. MY LIFE HAS CHANGED FOR THE BETTER TOO. LET’S CHAT!
That’s not exactly divulging any secrets, is it?
I scan the comments under Chloe’s video. One from Shane says, “Following in your footsteps!”
Huh? I click to his site. More photos of himself and more photos of girls “applying” to join his harem. A mysterious “Stay tuned!” banner scrolls across.
I rub my cheek. It’s awfully coincidental that both Chloe and Shane have amped up their online presence this week. But it doesn’t make sense that Dr. Sternfield would’ve given them Charisma when they clearly didn’t need to be more extroverted.
Troubled by my suspicions, I click around to as many other teen sibs pages as I can find. Most strike me as ordinary, the only possible exception being Rosa’s. Her posts in English include announcements about “Having the BEST day!” and her Spanish entries are filled with exclamation marks.
A sliver of pain shoots behind my eyes. If any others have taken the gene therapy, do they have side effects? Even if I don’t ask them directly, there’s someone I could contact. Should’ve done it sooner. I pull up Dr. Sternfield’s number.
She answers on the second ring. “Well, hello there, Aislyn. How’s life?”
“Mostly great, actually.”
She laughs. “As expected.”
“There’s just one thing. I’ve been getting these weird headaches, and sometimes I’m a little dizzy.”
There’s the tiniest pause before she says, “Completely normal. Your brain is producing new proteins, and creating new neural pathways. Once things settle down, the headaches will go away.”
“Are the other people you gave Charisma to having the same side effects? I heard Chloe was sick earlier.”
A longer silence this time. “If I’ve allowed others to experience the gene therapy, it wouldn’t be prudent to say anything. I don’t want to influence how you perceive the changes in your life with anecdotal evidence from others. You know how research works.” Her voice gets lower. “Aislyn, you’ve kept this under wraps, right? No blabbing?”
“Of course not,” I say, thinking about how much I ache to tell Evie.
“Good girl. Since I trust your discretion, I’ll let you in on some news: Sammy’s in the AV719 pool. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s, ahem, randomly selected.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic. Thanks so much.”
“Remember, keep quiet until it’s official, okay? We don’t want to jeopardize anything.”
I wave to a couple of lifeguards strolling by. “Of course.”
“Now, give me the scoop on your new life.”
I share a few details, including the party with Jack tonight. As I do, my cheeks grow warm. “It’s like I’m the person I’ve always dreamed of being, you know?”
“You have no idea how thrilled this makes me, Aislyn.”
And, really, the headaches are so fleeting, they aren’t really an issue at all.
With my nerves calmed, we hang up. I’m lucky to be part of her secret study, like winning the lottery. Me, the girl who drew the short straw on not growing up with a father and dealing with a crippling personality disorder.
As content as a cat under a skylight, I gather my stuff and head out, exchanging hellos with half a dozen people on the way to my car.
That evening, Jack’s right on time again. As I let myself out, I say, “Good thing you passed the police check.”
He winks. “In this state, anyway. But if you want me to break any laws, just say the word.”
“Hmm. I’ll think of something.”
We float into a gentle sunset.
Jack shakes his head. “I can hardly believe I’m with the same girl.”
This stops me short. He is with the same girl, isn’t he? I mean, I’m still me, only more willing to let others see that me. I brush my fingers against my temple even though nothing hurts. My skin prickles as if my body’s trying to figure something out. Inhabiting a new personality must be like a snail making its home in a new shell, wiggling and adjusting its innards until everything fits just so.
Fortunately, my feelings of discombobulation soon dissipate as we drive along tree-shaded streets. When Jack parks the car, I find my legs aren’t as wobbly as last time, and the music playing at Erin’s house is more of an embrace than an assault.
Evie and Rafe have already taken up a spot in the corner. They raise red cups in salute to Jack and me. Rafe nuzzles Evie’s neck, and she glances my way with a sly smile. So they’ve found enough alone alone time to get comfortable with PDA. Well, hopefully Jack and I will catch up soon. In the alone time anyway.
We join a conversation about someone’s dad getting Botox and another girl’s sister who got a boob job for her eighteenth birthday.
Zoe, an artsy girl who’s more Evie’s friend than mine, shakes her head. “I’d never want to be so fake.”
The guy next to her glances at her healthy chest. “Easy for you to say.”
She slaps his arm. “We should accept who we are. Anything else is phony.”
The others nod.
I straighten my shoulders. “People should make their own choices. As long as they aren’t going nuts with a bunch of surgeries, it’s their decision. Just like dyeing your hair or going on a diet. Who are we to judge?”
Everyone stares in silence. Evie squints intensely at me.
Zoe tugs at a multi-pierced earlobe. “All those air-brushed ads make people feel horrible about themselves if they don’t measure up. I refuse to buy into it.”
I say, “We don’t have to hold ourselves to Hollywood’s impossible ideals. But most of us alter ourselves every day to be more attractive. If you wanted to be one hundred percent natural, you wouldn’t wear deodorant or style your hair.”
Jack’s shocked expression is almost comical, but he’s able to sputter, “Yeah, I don’t want anyone telling me what I can and can’t do. I can say no to the stupid stuff.”
Evie doesn’t stop staring at me.
Jack motions toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
I have a quick flashback to Drew’s party. “Maybe a soda?”
Jack smiles and heads off. The kids around me transition from plastic surgery gossip to a new all-ages club downtown.
The guy next to Zoe says, “They had some nasty E there last week. Tory Simmons had to get her stomach pumped.”
Zoe sighs dramatically. “Damn, if people aren’t re-molding themselves physically, they’re doing it mentally.”
I point to her cup. “Like with beer?”
Everyone laughs, even Zoe, who’s smart enough not to argue the point. Persuading others to see things my way is potent, filling me with energy and giddiness.
Evie yanks my elbow. “Got a sec?”
“Sure.”
She leads me into an empty garage that smells of tur
pentine. The door has barely closed when she whips around. “What the hell is going on?”
“What do you mean?”
She counts on her fingers. “You texted Jack. You went out with him. You came to a party without me begging or you puking. And now you’re the center of attention. Basking in it, even. After last weekend, I can’t believe this is possible.”
I try to contain my grin. “You’re the one who’s always claimed that exposure therapy is the be-all, end-all. Maybe it finally kicked in.”
“Exposure therapy gave you a major meltdown at Drew’s party.”
“So, what else could explain it?” I’ll admit, I’m having fun with this.
She crosses her arms and paces. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just the one freaking out now because you’re so not the Aislyn I’m used to.” Her jaw is set tight.
It seems cruel not to let my best friend in on the news. Besides, she already knows something’s up, and I’ll implode if I try to keep it from her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, I lean toward her. “If I tell you something, would you promise never ever to tell anyone else?”
She rocks on the balls of her feet. “You’re okay, right? This isn’t going to be something horrible?”
I smile. “Not a bit. Promise not to say a word?”
“Of course. Now tell me.”
I brace my shoulders and swallow. “Okay. There’s a doctor at Nova Genetics who’s working on a gene therapy to make people more sociable. And on Sunday I got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to try it.” Oh, God, sharing my secret is the hugest rush.
Evie cocks her head. “How? Like Prozac? Or more like cocaine?”
I laugh, the relief of telling sending me into a light-headed state as I give her the specifics.
Her face pales and she shakes her head. “Aw, Aiz. It sounds so, so extreme. What if it doesn’t work?”
“You’ve already seen that it does work. Amazingly. At the teen siblings meeting, I even called a guy a douchebag.”
She purses her lips, staring at me with flame in her black eyes. “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or smack you.”
I pretend to flinch. “Maybe we should get back to the party and enjoy the new me before you decide.”
With Evie sighing dramatically, we head out of the garage. This time she follows me.
Jack raises his eyebrows when we rejoin the group. I whisper, “Girl talk.”
I sip the soda he brought and hand it back. He puts his lips exactly where mine were and takes a long swallow. His tan jawline glints with the hint of golden stubble to match his hair. I want so badly to drag a finger along it, slowly.
Suddenly, the room goes tilty and my head light. Whoa. I grab Jack’s arm for support.
“You okay?” He wipes splashed soda from his cheek and licks it off his finger.
Rafe laughs. “Dang, someone cannot handle her alcohol.”
I regain my balance. “I’m fine.”
Jack nudges me toward the sofa. “C’mon, let’s sit down.”
Even though I feel okay, I let him lead me there. We nestle into the cushions, our bodies pressed into each other. He smells of cedar and spring rain. Maybe I should’ve gotten dizzy earlier.
He places the cup on an end table. “If you need to go home, let me know.”
I bite my lip. “I could stay here, in this spot, all night.”
He whispers in my ear, “I hear ya.”
“Okay, knock it off, you two,” booms Johnny Sonoma, who plays every varsity sport. He sinks next to us, and pulls Abby O’Keefe onto his lap.
Before we know it, a half-dozen kids join us, sitting on the floor around the sofa or hovering on the armrests. Jack and I soon meld into the laughter and slurred conversation of kids I barely know. How come I never noticed how friendly these guys are? It’s invigorating, being the party’s center of gravity. Other kids join us, watching from the sidelines and trying to get a word in. But we’re at the heart of the frenzy. At one point, I catch Evie watching from across the room. She shakes her head in wonder.
She and I have a lot to discuss. I need my best friend to help me come to terms with all of this.
For now, I enjoy learning about my fellow classmates while I cuddle next to Jack. His skin is deliciously warm. At some point, the lights in the room dim and the music intensifies. Johnny and Abby get up to dance. A few others join them. Jack gives me a quizzical look.
“Sure,” I say, rising with him, my head as clear and stable as a diamond.
Soon, everyone’s dancing. I get that feeling I had the other night, as if I’m connected to a mass of humanity that throbs and flows. Instead of breaking off from it, this time I let myself sink into the sensation. Mentally, I’m crowd-surfing, in perfect harmony with my body, which Jack holds so tightly I feel every button on his shirt.
Within a miasma of music and laughing, Jack and I lock gazes. We bring our faces closer, ever so slowly, until our lips touch. We pull back, smiling, and then lean in for real, meeting in a kiss that’s warm and pulsating. Oh, man, if holding hands is like a flame, kissing is an inferno. My body seems to know what to do better than my brain for a change. So I let it. We shift into each other for long, perfect minutes.
Someone yells at us, “Take it outside!”
I look up from my daze to find that Jack and I aren’t the only ones caught up in the moment. We throw our heads back, arms overhead, and dance, not caring about anything but the music. Many songs later I notice how my dress sticks to my back and how hard I’m breathing.
Jack catches me by the elbow and escorts me to the hallway. He checks his phone. “Damn, you were supposed to be home twenty-five minutes ago.”
I nuzzle into his chest. “Don’t worry. My mom probably fell asleep.”
Zoe and another girl slink toward us pointing cameras. “Anything you want to say to the world? Maybe a PSA for plastic surgery?”
I clear my throat. What to say to “the world”? The first thing that comes out is: “Have a blast. But if you have too much of a blast, be sure you’re an organ donor.”
Everyone laughs. I pretend to as well, even though I know the reason for my weird comment is the scary probability of Sammy needing a lung transplant someday.
A few minutes later, when I say good-bye to Evie, she nudges my arm. “Okay, I wanna sign up for the you-know-what too.”
I glance at Rafe, who hasn’t strayed from her side all night. “You’re doing fine.”
Jack speeds home, only to take our time parked in front of my house. Whenever his skin meets mine, I shiver. No way will I bring him to the porch, where Mom can interrupt us. At quarter after eleven, I kiss him one last time and run to my door with a smile that makes my cheeks hurt.
Opening the door quietly, I let out a huge sigh to find the living room empty. But as I tiptoe upstairs, Sammy’s coughing seems to jangle the walls. I peek into his room to find Mom offering him tissues and a plastic pail.
They both turn to me with wounded eyes.
I say, “Sorry I’m late.”
Mom pats Sammy’s back. “You couldn’t call?”
Sammy hacks another chest-rattling cough and puts his face into the pail.
“I totally lost track of the time. Really, I’m so sorry.”
Sammy wipes his mouth. “Give her a break, Mom. She’s never had a boyfriend before.”
Mom’s stern expression is more about breaking bones than granting breaks, but all she says is, “You’d better get some sleep if you want to be alert at work tomorrow.”
I nod and shut the door.
But my insides tingle too much to go to bed. I savor the electric memory of my first real kiss, and my second, tenth, and twentieth. As if I could sleep after that.
I hop onto my computer, and, before I know it, post a few random thoughts about the party. A couple of o
ther kids who were there answer with notes of their own. Soon there’s a flurry of updates and connection requests. Someone posts videos of us dancing. In the midst of the activity, I notice Chloe returned my private message from earlier with: HAPPY YOUR LIFE ROCKS. MAYBE ALL THAT THEORETICAL KNOWLEDGE ABOUT GUYS WILL BECOME ACTUAL. HAHA! HAVE YOU SEEN SHANE’S PAGE TODAY?
I groan, but check out his page anyway. Apparently, he’s taken his girlfriend application process to the “next level.” Half expecting he means orgies, I find the next level involves a plan for local film students to follow him around and produce The Shane Show for the city cable channel.
Puh-leeeze. What girl would want to be part of that? I sigh. No amount of Charisma would persuade me to do that.
Unless . . .
Grinning, I get a wicked idea, and fill in the online application form. Without any bikini shots handy, I link to a dance video from the party. Someone needs to put this guy in his place.
I submit the application, and then a trickle of guilt persuades me to find ways to use my upgraded personality for something more than messing with Shane’s ego. No ideas as to what this greater good might be occurs to me by the time I slip under the covers, yet I fall asleep hopeful I can make a difference in the world. My own world has already changed for the better. Miraculously. Of that, I have no doubt.
After only six hours of sleep, I awake the next morning raring to go. For sixteen point nine years, my mornings were always weighted by fears to face the day. Time to make up for that.
I grab my phone, only to feel the room sway as I find dozens of messages on Chloe’s page about her passing out at a club last night. She insists it was only because things have been so crazy busy. But not too busy to invite everyone she knows to a huge solstice party on the beach tonight, which she promises will be epic.
I feel my own forehead. Normal. Still, I text Dr. Sternfield with news about Chloe, just in case.
My phone buzzes. I hope it’s the doctor with some reassurances, but it’s Evie. YOUR VIDEO GOT PICKED UP ON THE TEENS TALK SITE.