The Genetic Code

Chapter 5

My journey home felt a lot shorter than normal. Once Alex left the bus — he gets off a few stops from school while I go down further south — I was left alone with my rampant thoughts. I barely noticed when the bus had finally arrived in my neighborhood, and the bus driver had to remind me to tap my card before I got off. It's a good thing he did. If I had forgotten, I would have had to pay the maximum fee and Mom would get mad at me for wasting money for no good reason. I wouldn't even have been able to explain my reason: that I was busy worrying about The Test and my dreaded fate. Too many questions would arise from that. Why would I be worried? Aren't I just Normal?

The bus stop is pretty far from my house, so I have to walk a while. I don't mind today. I'd rather not reach home so quickly and face my parents.

My neighborhood isn't in a bad part of the city. But it's not in a good part either. The houses I pass by are all old, a series of identical buildings built by the government decades ago. I walk on the straight pavement, keeping my eyes trained on my feet to avoid tripping on any cracked surface.

From the corner of my eye I see an older boy in front of a worn-down house. He is holding another scrawny boy, probably eleven or twelve, by the collar.

"You're so pathetic," the older boy spits, giving the younger boy a hard smack on the back of the head. The younger boy just stares at him with resentment in his green eyes, taking all the bullets his brother throws at him without retort, as if he had already become so accustomed to it.

I feel a wave of anger course through my veins for the second time today. That same liquid heat like a slow burn that ignites my heart and eyes whenever I see some act of injustice.

My feet move with their own volition in the direction of that house, but before I can take a step the door flies open.

"Troye!"

The older boy drops his brother. The look in his eyes transform from menace to fear as a stout woman with curlers in her hair storms out of the house, across the porch, towards the two boys. She grabs her older son by the ear and pulls him back into the house, whacking him repeatedly in the chest.

"How can you hit a child!" she shouts as they disappear into the house. The younger boy looks on with empty eyes, then gets on his bicycle and rides off without a single word.

***

When I finally reach my front door, I take a deep breath before plastering a smile on my face.

I open the front door and let the acting resume.

"Mom, I'm home!" I exclaim in a chipper voice. I see a head of red locks poke out from the couch. I find myself anticipating which version of her I will be seeing today.

"Oh, sweetie you're back." Neutral Mom — that's always the best. I don't think I could handle one of her manic or depressive episodes today.

"Have you taken your meds?"

"Of course, sweetie. At 12 o'clock, like I'm supposed to."

"That's good. Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he took the day shift today. He'll be back for dinner. How was school? Anything interesting happen?"

"Nope, nothing... It was boring as usual."

"School is always boring for you. I sent you to this school because I thought it would be more exciting, rather than some dull Normal school. With both Perfects and Invalids, there's bound to be some drama. Drama is always fun, right?"

"Believe me, Mom, I'd rather have boring."'

She giggles like a little girl, as if what I just said was the funniest thing she's heard all week. I notice that her eyes are glazed over as well. Her pills probably worked too well today.