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

But Eric wasn't exactly the most social guy in his class. "I don't know," he said vaguely. "They're not jocks, or stoners, or punks. I think they're just another popular crowd."
As they climbed the steps, Jeanine raised her voice. "That party Saturday night was great!" she said. "All the really cool kids were there. And so select." Amy rolled her eyes. It was obvious that Jeanine wanted to be overheard. Given their ongoing rivalry, Amy didn't doubt that Jeanine probably thought that she, Amy, was jealous of Jeanine's newfound popularity. If that was true, Jeanine couldn't be more wrong. No way was Amy jealous. And she didn't care if Jeanine was in a clique and she wasn't. That notion didn't appeal to Amy at all. She liked having only a couple of really close friends. With her secret, she couldn't let just anyone into her private world.
But Amy wasn't beyond wanting to beat Jeanine out in that essay competition. . . .
The friends separated to go to their homerooms. Tasha and Amy decided on a place to meet fifth period so they could go to the assembly together. Eric didn't offer to join them, and they didn't invite him. There was an unwritten law at Parkside about seating arrangements—in the cafeteria, the gym, anywhere the entire school congregated. It didn't matter that Eric was now Amy's sort-of official boyfriend. He was in the ninth grade, she was in the seventh grade, and any real socializing had to take place off campus.
So when Amy entered the gym with Tasha fifth period, she knew Eric was somewhere high on the bleachers with track team and basketball buddies from his grade. Eighth-graders got the lower levels of the bleachers and the back rows of the folding chairs set up on the gym floor. She and Tasha proceeded to the front of the gym, where seventh-graders were taking seats. The area was filled with the cries of "Lisa, over here," and "Sorry, this seat's saved."
"Honestly," Tasha remarked, "you'd think these girls would collapse if they had to spend one hour sitting next to someone other than their best friend."
"I know," Amy said as she sat down beside her. "Everyone's so gutless." She looked around, curious to see if Jeanine had the guts to abandon the unofficial seventh-grade area so she could sit with her older friends. But no, traditions were too strong. Jeanine was sitting way over on the other side of the first row, with her regular friend Linda Riviera.
Amy was about to point this out to Tasha, when she noticed that Tasha was scratching her wrist under her bracelet. "If it itches you, why don't you take it off?" said Amy.
"Because it looks too gross," Tasha told her. She undid the clasp on the silver cuff. "See?"
"Yuck." It did look pretty gross—tiny, fiery red spots covered the skin that had been concealed by the bracelet. "How did that happen?"
"It's a skin allergy," Tasha said. "I'm allergic to nickel."
"But you wear that bracelet all the time. How come it just started bothering you?" Amy peered at the wide cuff bracelet. "Isn't it silver?"
"It's only plated in silver, and the silver's wearing off. Look." Tasha showed Amy the inside of the bracelet, where a dark smudge had formed. "That must be nickel underneath," she added as she started to put the bracelet back on.
"You're not going to wear it, are you?"
"But I feel naked without it," Tasha said mournfully. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?"
"I kind of doubt it," Amy admitted. That was the great advantage to being a genetically perfect clone. She was never sick. She didn't get hay fever, she could eat anything, and she could wear any kind of jewelry. She didn't wear much, though. Just her watch and the pearl ring her mother had given her when she turned twelve. And her pendant, of course.
Automatically, her hand went to the thin silver chain, and she felt the curve of the small crescent moon that dangled from it. She had been given this pendant by a very special person, Dr. Jaleski, who had been the director of Project Crescent. He was dead now, and his daughter had told Amy he'd made this pendant for her so she'd never forget who she was. It was certainly easier to look at the sterling silver crescent than to try to get a look at the identical shape, a birthmark, on her right shoulder blade.
Their principal, Dr. Noble, was tapping on the microphone. "Could I have your attention, please? Thank you. Welcome to our Awareness Assembly. Today we are going to address a very serious topic. There is a plague among us, a disease which threatens to wipe out your entire generation. It is a ruthless killer that has infiltrated our society and selected adolescents as its main victim."
Everyone was on the edge of their seats. Tasha had even stopped scratching her arm.
"I am speaking, of course, about . . . drug abuse."
People let out a few groans and relaxed their bodies. From the way Dr. Noble had been talking, they had been expecting some amazing and exciting new horror. But this was old news. Everyone knew how bad drugs were, they'd been told about the dangers practically since they were babies, and drags weren't a particularly big problem at Parkside anyway.
This assembly didn't look like it would be telling them anything they didn't already know. For the next thirty minutes, a doctor talked about the health risks; a police officer talked about criminal consequences; and a drug counselor talked about getting help if you were already on drugs. Everything they said was true, but everyone in the gym had heard it all before.
There was a mild flutter of interest when the last speaker was introduced. "That guy looks familiar," Amy commented.
"He's an actor. He was on that soap we used to watch," Tasha told her. "He drowned. No, wait, he fell off a mountain. Something like that. Anyway, he disappeared and I haven't seen him on TV since then. I always wondered what happened to him."
Apparently, he had become a drug addict. He told them how he started taking drugs so he could stay up all night and party and still make it to the soap opera's set early in the morning. "I was making a lot of money back then, but it all went for drugs. And eventually it started to affect my work on the soap opera. I was fired. I got so depressed, I did more drugs. And when those drugs couldn't do it for me anymore, I tried something new."
This new drug turned out to be the worst yet. "It's got several street names, but the most popular one is 'Toast,'" the actor told them. "People say it's called that because it smells like cinnamon toast. I say it got that name because once you start on it, you're toast." He explained how Toast cost him his career, his girlfriend, and his home; he ended up in a hospital, almost dead. Then he got into a recovery program, and now he was clean and sober. The only time the audience listened with real interest was when he described the bad effects of the drug.
"You sweat, your stomach goes berserk, you puke your guts out, and you pull your own hair out of your head."
When he finished, there was polite applause and then a general shuffling sound as kids began gathering their things. "Are you more aware now?" Tasha asked Amy.
"Not really," Amy replied. "I just don't think I'll ever be able to eat cinnamon toast again." She reached for her backpack.
But the assembly wasn't over. Dr. Noble was at the microphone again. "Before you go on to your sixth-period classes, we have an announcement to make. Ms. Weller will tell you about it."
"Maybe this is about the essay competition," Amy murmured. She glanced over at Jeanine, who was clearly having the same thought. She was telling Linda, "She's going to announce the winner of the essay contest."
Did Jeanine know that or was she just guessing? Amy wondered. Then it dawned on her that there was no way she could have heard Jeanine from this distance, not even with her skills. "Hey, I think I know how to lip-read now," Amy whispered to Tasha. Tasha wasn't surprised. She knew all about Amy's ability to see something once and imitate it perfectly.
Ms. Weller came up to the microphone. "I'm very pleased to announce that not one, but two Parkside students have been selected as finalists in the National Essay Competition! These two seventh-graders will have an all-expenses-paid trip to New York City to compete in the finals. Congratulations to Jeanine Bryant and Amy Candler!"
Tasha let out a whoop as the audience applauded. Amy could feel Jeanine's eyes on her, but her superior abilities didn't include knowing what the girl was thinking. Was Jeanine furious that she had to share this honor? Personally, Amy didn't care at all. She was more excited at the thought of going to New York.
There was something else she had to think about too, and Tasha voiced the concern for her. "What's your mother going to say?" she asked as they filed out of the gymnasium. "You know she doesn't like you to call attention to yourself."
"She doesn't want me to be an Olympic gymnast and get my face on a cereal box. But this is different," Amy reasoned. "Winning an essay contest doesn't make a person famous."
Still, she had a feeling that her mother wasn't going to be too thrilled. She didn't like Amy to compete in sports or academics or anything. Because Amy always excelled. And people were going to start wondering why.


2

Nancy Candler's reaction to the news came as no surprise to Amy, and Tasha had been correct. Nancy was not pleased.
"Oh, Amy," Nancy said as she sank down into a chair at the kitchen table.
Amy knew what was coming and tried to ward it off. "Gee, Mom, aren't you proud of me? Any ordinary mother would be saying congratulations."
"Any ordinary mother of an ordinary child," Nancy corrected her. She shook her head reprovingly. "How many times have I told you—"
"I know, I know," Amy interrupted. "I'm not supposed to call attention to myself. I shouldn't stand out in the crowd and I shouldn't be noticed."
"It's for your own good, Amy. There are people out there who want to find you."
"They've already found me, Mom."
Her mother couldn't argue with that. Too many incidents, too many close calls had made it clear to them that Amy had been identified. They knew now that the faceless organization, the powers behind Project Crescent, had never bought the story that all twelve clones had been destroyed in the explosion of the laboratory twelve years ago. An explosion deliberately set off by Dr. Jaleski and several other scientists, including Amy's mother. They had stumbled on the real reason they were creating clones, which wasn't to benefit humankind, but to create a superior race. The clones, with every facet of their human potential maximized, would enable the faceless organization to achieve world dominance. The explosion was staged to seem like an accident, and the babies were reported to have perished in the ensuing blaze. But the babies had been whisked away and sent far and wide for adoption. Nancy Candler had kept Amy—Amy, Number Seven. The other Amys were alive and out there, somewhere. Amy herself had identified two others—a French ballerina and an actress. What the organization wanted from the clones now wasn't completely clear, and Amy wasn't sure she wanted to know.
She did know that her mother wanted to protect her, and so far she'd tried to follow Nancy's advice. She kept a low profile and didn't exhibit her extraordinary gifts—well, not publicly. She'd given up gymnastics, she held herself back in phys ed and let others win the races, and only occasionally did she allow herself to be the first with a hand up in class. She knew she couldn't let the whole world see how exceptional she was. It wasn't easy for a person who was naturally competitive.