The Genetic Code

Chapter 18

I was wrong. I had honestly expected this to blow over in a few days, a few weeks max, and fizzle away like bubbles of foam underwater while everyone raved about summer and vacation plans.

Summer's nearly over, and I've spent majority of it hidden away in my room, with all the windows and curtains closed. The rest of the time, I would be wandering aimlessly down the hallway, floating about in the kitchen, or sprawled across the couch, just trying to dwindle my time away.

I've only left the house thrice accompanying Mom to get groceries. Even though I tried to wear dark colors and caps to make myself less prominent on those occasions, I still had people stop and stare at me, recognizing me as that extraordinary girl from the news headlines whom defied all logic and jumped two levels in status. I'm sure the reporters bustling outside the supermarket were a give-away too.

I give the reporters as little information as possible. If I could give them none, I would, but my parents insist that releasing some sort of statement is necessary. I really don't want to give them any form of breadcrumb that could lead them back to my past.

But I probably shouldn't have lied, either. Well it wasn't exactly a lie, I was just being agreeable to statements that may not have been fully accurate, warping the truth just a bit. It's hard to remain logical and level-headed when there are bright lights shining at you from every direction and four cameras capturing you from different angles.

It still eludes me how my parents managed to convince me to agree to do that interview. They claimed that if I did the interview, I would be answering all of the reporters' dire questions at one shot, and after that, I wouldn't have to worry about them staking out in the neighborhood anymore. I really hope that's true. I've forgotten what high-rise building look like, since the only buildings I've seen for the past two months are my neighbors' houses across the street, the neighborhood grocery store, and the news station last Friday. It's broadcasting tonight, as the top news story of the Sunday News.

We gather in the living room at seven. I'm sandwiched between Mom and Dad on the couch as they each clutch one of my hands. Once my face appears on the screen, they both shriek in excitement, waving my hands high up in the air.

"You're on TV!" Mom exclaims.

"I'm so proud of you, honey!" says Dad.

While both of them rave over the fact that I'm on nation-wide television, I sit wordlessly, anticipating the worst.

"So Juliette," the interviewer questions. "By now, everyone in the country, no, everyone in the entire world, has heard about you: The extraordinary Normal girl who was coded as a Perfect. What do you think about this new label?"

"I don't really find myself all that extraordinary..." I respond weakly. "I still feel like a regular person. I see myself like every other ordinary girl. Nothing's actually changed about me."

"From a Normal to a Perfect... I would call that a pretty huge change!"

I smile awkwardly, mumbling like whenever I get nervous, "Well... I guess it's... I don't-" Eventually I give up on speaking. "Yeah." From my seat on the couch, I cringe at myself.

"Were you expecting this at all? Were there any signs that you just didn't fit in with the Normal crowd?"

"I definitely didn't expect... this kind of result." I divulge. Good choice of words.

"I doubt anyone did!" The interviewer says. "I heard, the story is that you're actually adopted! Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And your adoptive parents didn't know you were a Perfect all this time."

"No, they didn't. This is something that shocked all of us."

"The most recent statement released by Rosamund Technologies regarding this issue is that they have conducted genetic tests and affirmed that you are of Perfect heritage."

"Ye-" I stop. "Pardon?"

"Oh, have you not seen the article?"

"I must have... missed it."

"How is it? Knowing that you've actually been Perfect all this time while you've lived such a mundane life as a Normal."

"It's... refreshing." Oh, Juliette. Refreshing? Is this a cool beverage on a hot summer's day? I mentally slap myself, hoping to wake up from this hellish nightmare being broadcasted throughout the country.

"You're currently enrolled in Trinity Institution."

"Yes, that's right."

"Now that the results are out, they've offered you a place in their prestigious Perfect Program. Surely, you're going to accept?"

I hesitate. "Y-Yes, of course. Who wouldn't jump at this opportunity?"

"Now, excuse me if this question is a little too sensitive, but, if your biological parents were Perfects, what do you think their reason for putting you up for adoption would be? Perfect children generally aren't put up for adoption."

"Oh, according to the orphanage, it was the econ... uh... economic..."

"Ah, the economic depression of the '30s, is what you're referring to?"

"Yes, that's it. The economic slowdown when many people got laid off. They probably couldn't afford to keep me," I recite from memory, as I was instructed to eleven years ago in that backroom of the orphanage.

"But the effects of the economic slowdown mostly hit the Invalid and Normal populations. Majority of the Borders and Perfects were unaffected."

I hadn't taken into account that my old story had been weaved to be suited to a pair of imaginary Normal parents. These imaginary Perfect parents needed a new story. But under pressure, my mind tends to shut down.

The shock is evident on my face, as I stutter, "I-I mean... there are a lot of... m-many reasons... people would... I-I can't say for certain..."

The interviewer could sense my uneasiness. "Well, we can't say anything for sure. We can only speculate and draw our own conclusions," she says, laughing it off lightly.

I smile tightly, answering meekly, "Yes."

"To end off, Juliette, is there anything you'd like to say to your parents? Adoptive and biological?"

"To my adoptive parents," I start assuredly, staring into the camera, "Mom, Dad, thank you for treating me as your own all these years. I hope this result won't change anything between us. I love you both."

Mom has started blubbering next to me, responding to my broadcasted message from her seat in the living room, "We love you too!" She blows her nose noisily into a tissue.

"And to my real parents..." The version of me on the screen speaks slowly, carefully, "Thank you for endowing me with these genes."

My eyes in the television looks straight through screen, staring right at me. Our two faces are perfectly aligned, yet perfectly distorted.