The Genetic Code

Chapter 2

I exit Lucinda's Lair with a deep sigh. Being in that place gives me anxiety, with the horrible memories of my previous encounter with her still fresh in my mind. Though I have to note, she's significantly nicer to me this time around. I guess the label on my ID changes things — it's like a permanent hall pass, except the 'hall' is Lucinda's wrath.

I clutch the folder in my hands, containing papers including my timetable, locker number and code, and other miscellaneous documents, all printed on different colored paper and laminated nicely for me.

Looks like my first period is a philosophy lecture. I've never been to a philosophy class before. Philosophy seems to be for those who don't have to worry about the stress and troubles in real life, and therefore intentionally create theoretical problems of rationality and the principles of being in their heads to bring some form of complexity to their otherwise effortless lives.

Students openly stare at me all the way down the halls. If it's not because they recognize me from the news, it's my glaring white in contrast to their deep sea of blue. I really feel like I'm drowning in the waters, and I've barely made it to the other block of the school where the lecture theatre is supposed to be located. I keep my eyes down, and walk briskly to where I need to be.

After being lost in one enormous block of the East Wing for a good ten minutes, I finally find the lecture theatre. I'm still fifteen minutes early, but I decide to just take a seat first and wait for the lecture to start. It's not like I have anywhere else to go and hang out with my friends before the lesson begins like I used to.

It's pretty dark when I enter, the only lights switched on are the ones above the stage. All the seats are vacant and the place is empty, since no one else is here this early. I walk down the aisles and find a good seat somewhere in the middle of the right column, not too near and not too far. Just central enough to not be noticed once the other students pour in and fill up the seating.

It takes me a while to notice that I'm not the only one in the room. In the left column, a figure sits silently in the shadows, around the same area as me, slumped in his velvet seat.

I act like I don't notice him, to prevent any form of communication arising from this situation: the two of us alone in a dark room, separated by rows of empty seats. I don't even know who he is, all I know is that he's some Perfect boy. I haven't even gotten a clear look at his face.

All of a sudden the most dreaded thing breaks through the silence — a question.

"Are you the new girl?" His voice is low and smooth.

"Yeah," I respond after a pause, keeping my head facing front.

After being silent for a few seconds, he speaks up again, "You're not wearing the blazer." It's more of a statement, rather than a question. So I answer it like a statement.

"Yeah."

I'm afraid he's going to press more and that this will turn out to be another interview session. My heart begins to race at this thought, my throat turning dry.

But he doesn't, just accepting my reply, and quips back, "I don't really like the blazer either. It's such a burden to carry around on my back all the time, literally. But what can I do? It makes me look good." The knot of easiness in my chest begins to unwind. I grin to myself in the darkness, chuckling silently. "I guess you don't need the blazer to look good?"

"More like I look just as haggard, with or without blazer," I say dryly. The mysterious Perfect boy snickers.

"Well, I don't care really, but the other kids will stare if you're not wearing this blue thing along these halls."

"Trust me, they'll be staring even if I'm wearing the blazer... That piece of fabric is the least of my problems."

"And what are these problems then?"

I close my mouth, biting my bottom lip. Mentally cursing myself, I slowly open my mouth and try to fathom an answer, but before I can attempt at a poor excuse of a lie, he cuts in.

"Ah, a girl with secrets, I see. Don't tell me," he adds quickly. "I want to find out for myself."

I'm taken aback by his words. Who is this guy? I've just met him, and he's already threatening to dredge up my secrets. Well, he'd by digging all the way down to the mantle of the earth to find the bottom of my lies. He'd better be fit.

Are Perfects generally like this on the first meeting? Or is he just a strange Perfect? I'm leaning more towards the latter. Somehow I'm not too concerned about the idea that he's on the lookout for my secrets. There's something about him that makes me feel somewhat safe. The mystery, mischief and magnetism in his voice; he's curious, but not judging, because he has secrets too. That thought comforts me, knowing that I'm not the only one trying desperately to hide things that I don't want others to discover.

People with secrets tend to understand each other, sharing this common culture to wonder but never ask, know but never tell, lest their own secrets get exposed.

"You sure you want to know?" I ask.

"Is that a challenge?" His voice resonates in the darkness.

At that moment the doors burst open and the lights come on, throngs of students streaming into the lecture theatre, forming a barrier between me and that mystery boy.

I look forward and slump back in my seat to make myself as small as possible once Perfects begin to fill up the seats. As the teacher enters and the lecture begins, I try my best to focus on the words he spouts about the principles of conduct and knowledge, rather than letting my mind loiter on that conversation in the dark and the boy sitting at the other side of the room...