"Replica04 - Perfect Girls - Kaye, Marilyn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaye Marilyn)

Marilyn Kaye: Perfect Girls (Replica #4)


1

Amy had the front door open before Tasha could knock. "I'm leaving, Mom," she called. "Tasha's here!"
Her mother's usual parting words followed her out the door: "Have a good day, girls!"
Tasha was waiting on the steps. She frowned. "I heard that," she said. "Can you tell me one good thing about Mondays?"
Amy had to think about that. As the two of them walked out of the condo complex where they lived next door to each other, she said, "Mondays are good because—because we're having another Awareness Assembly fifth period."
Tasha brightened. "That's right. No phys ed for me. What about you?"
"English. Just my luck, I miss my favorite class. If only I'd known they were going to have these assemblies every Monday this month, I would have asked for geography fifth period." She stopped walking suddenly. "I hear Eric."
Tasha uttered a mild groan. "Do you hear him coming out the door or getting out of bed? Because I'm not waiting forever."
Amy laughed. "I wouldn't know if he was just getting out of bed, Tasha. My ears aren't that good."
"Exactly how well can you hear?" Tasha asked. "Like, when I'm on the phone in my room, can you hear me in your room?"
"You're becoming paranoid," Amy said. She smiled mischievously. "Unless you're saying things you don't want me to hear."
"No. I'm just curious," Tasha said. "Can you hear through walls?"
"Sometimes," Amy admitted. "It depends on how thick the wall is, and how loud the noise is. And I have to be tuned in, you know? I need to be listening for something I want to hear."
"So that's why you always know when my brother is around," Tasha said.
"Shhh!" Amy hissed. Eric didn't have Amy's acute hearing, but he wasn't deaf. And he was right behind them now.
But Eric hadn't heard his sister. He had other things on his mind when he caught up with the girls. "Are we having another one of those Learn Something assemblies today?"
"It's called an Awareness Assembly," Tasha corrected him. "Yeah, fifth period."
Eric let out a massive sigh of relief. "No Spanish."
"I thought you liked Spanish," Amy commented.
"It's okay. But I forgot to do the homework assignment."
Amy and Tasha exchanged looks. Eric's problem with memory was well known. It was something Amy had difficulty understanding. "How can you forget about homework? Don't you write down the assignment?"
"Sure, but sometimes I forget to look at what I write down. Hey, not all of us are perfect, you know."
Tasha gave him a disdainful look. "Eric, I remember to check my homework assignments every day, and I'm not perfect."
Eric nodded. "You can say that again. Hey, Amy, any chance you could give Tasha a little of your superior genetic material?"
"Oh, shut up," Amy said good-naturedly. It wasn't long ago that Amy had discovered the truth about her birth—that she had been created by scientists working on Project Crescent, a government experiment so highly classified that no official knowledge of it existed. The scientists recruited to work on the project had collected and manipulated the best in human genetics—and the result had been Amy. Actually, twelve Amys. All identical. All clones. Unearthing the truth had been an incredible shock for Amy, but she'd finally accepted it, and had recently shared her secret with Eric and Tasha. It used to bother her when one of them commented on her special nature. Now she was accustomed to Eric's teasing, and it didn't matter—as long as the wrong people didn't hear about it. She changed the subject. "Why do they call it an 'awareness' assembly, anyway?"
"I guess because they're supposed to make us aware of some problem we don't usually think about," Tasha said. "Like that first one on recycling. I had no idea that plastic bottles can last practically forever."
"Last week's was pretty good, too," Amy noted.
Eric scratched his head. "Which one was that?"
"How deaf people get along. Remember, that lady showed us how she uses sign language and reads lips?" Amy grinned. "Didn't you love it when she saw Jeanine tell someone the assembly was boring? And the interpreter said it out loud? I thought Jeanine was going to die."
"Unfortunately, she's alive and well," Tasha commented.
"Tasha, don't talk like that! I don't like Jeanine, but I don't wish her dead."
Tasha shrugged. "Why not? I'll bet that's how she'd like to see you. You two have been sworn enemies since first grade."
"That's just because we're always competing with each other," Amy said. "Spelling bees, gymnastics, everything."
"But now you have an unfair advantage," Tasha said. "Jeanine didn't have a bunch of scientists working on her when she was born. Though I've always thought she might have had a personality transplant. From Dr. Jekyll."
"I don't think we really hate each other," Amy noted. "At least, not enough to commit murder."
"What are you competing for now?" Eric asked.
"Nothing, really," Amy said. "Just the usual. Grades. Shoes."
"What about the essay contest?" Tasha remarked.
Amy nodded. "I almost forgot about that. Ms. Weller invited a bunch of her English students to enter the National Essay Competition," she explained to Eric. "We were given a topic and had to write an essay in one hour, without any preparation."
"When do you find out who won?" Eric asked.
"I don't know. All the essays were sent off to some national office, where they pick the semifinalists. The topic was pretty interesting, actually: peer pressure. I wrote about how cliques form and how people knock themselves out trying to get in without even knowing why."
"Jeanine may have the unfair advantage there," said Tasha. "I mean, look at her."
They'd reached Parkside Middle School, and Jeanine Bryant could be seen with some other students sitting on the steps leading to the entrance.
"Ever since Jeanine started hanging out with that crowd, she's been imitating them," Tasha continued. "Did you notice how she put a red streak in her hair last week? All the girls in that crowd have red streaks."
"Who's in that crowd, anyway?" Amy asked, looking at the half dozen kids sprawled on the steps. "I don't know any of them."
Tasha was always more tuned in to school gossip. "They're mostly eighth- and ninth-graders," she replied. Both girls looked at Eric. As a ninth-grader, he was now expected to provide them with information.