The Genetic Code

Chapter 8

I stare at the phone in my hand, with a text drafted for Alex: 'We need to talk.'

I'd spent the past hour thinking up that one line. I think it's perfect, the best literary work I've ever written.

My finger hovers over the 'send' button, but I can't bring myself to press it. I stare at the blinking cursor. I feel like it's mocking me, and the fact that I can't even send a text message to a guy I've known for nine years of my life.

He wasn't on the train today, and I didn't see him on the train ride home yesterday, either. I walked up and down the train carriages once to check, but I couldn't find him. Does what happened on the train the other day have something to do with his absence?

After staring at the drafted message for another few minutes, I finally decide to delete it and throw my phone onto the pillow beside me. I lay flat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling absentmindedly.

There's a gentle knock on the door. Mom pokes her head in.

"Why aren't you packing?" she asks with a look of concern on her face, forehead crinkling up as she frowns.

I chuckle. "It's only Wednesday, Mom. I'm leaving on Monday. I can pack over the weekend."

"Oh, no, no, darling. Imagine if you realized that you're missing something that you need, but it'd be too late to get it! What a disaster that would be! I've printed out the packing list they uploaded on the school website..." She comes in and sits on the edge of my bed, pointing to random items on the list.

"Track pants?"

"Yes."

"Underwear?"

"Yes."

"Toothbrush?"

"Yes."

She looks around the room as if scouting to make sure no one else is around. Cupping her hand by the side of her lips, she leans in and whispers into my ear, "Sanitary pads?"

"Yes!" I burst out laughing, covering my hands over my eyes. "Mom, I'm not some little girl anymore. I'm nearly eighteen years old. We're both women, you don't need to talk about it as if it's some shameful secret. And you don't have to baby me. I lived independently at boarding in the media blackout center. I'm pretty sure I can handle a packing list." I pluck the piece of paper from her hands.

"Thank you," I sing happily.

She lies down next to me and points to another item on the list I'm holding.

"Okay, okay. What about mosquito repellent? It's been a while since I last bought some. Do you have any?"

"That I admit I don't have."

She jumps up from the bed, exclaiming, "Then what are you waiting for? Go to the convenience store and get some mosquito repellant! I don't want my daughter to be eaten alive by mosquitos while at camp."

"But I just took a shower," I whine childishly, "My hair's still wet."

She pulls me up by my hands and spanks my butt jokingly. "Get your ass down to the convenience store."

I groan.

"Mom—"

"Go."

***

The bell above the door jingles as I enter.

I wave to the owner of the convenience store, Melvin, a rotund middle-aged Normal who comes down to personally man the store occasionally.