The Baby Swap

2

I knew what I'd done as soon as she left the room, my creaking door slamming into the doorway, locking itself into place. I did the same, silently plopping down on my bed in a turtle-like position, hugging my knees to my chest and setting my head down in the little nook between them. My mind was racing about what I had just done, the thought of it whirring around in my head, bouncing off the edges and whizzing back around. My mother must be fuming mad at me, considering I had just done the worst possible thing a girl at my age of thirteen could do. I had asked about my real birth mother. Again. Even though I know that I will get in trouble every time, I feel the need to ask again and again, time after time. We are not supposed to ask about our birth mothers because the society set up the Baby Swap and all the rules.
According to them, it's supposed to be perfect. Well, news flash! It's not. Supposedly everything the society has set up is this so called 'perfect' but many people think differently, including me.
I hear the phone ring so I pick it up from the cradle, but instead of answering it, I throw it on the ground giving it a generous amount of my saliva before stomping on it. Hard. I didn't bother looking at the number, because I already know who it was. My mom. Well, who I'm supposed to call my mom. I don't know who or where my real mom is, and I probably will never know.
I walk over to my bed again and pull out my golden locket from under my cream-coloured lace shirt and toss it between my two hands. I was given this locket on my Celebration Day. It's what people used to call birthdays, I think. Anyways, everyone is given a Celebration Day when they are born along with a locket that contains their birthstone. My Celebration Day is on the thirty-first day of August, which makes me a Virgo, so my birthstone is a peridot.
The story of these lockets is pretty interesting, and it has always appealed to me, ever since I was a little girl. It sounded so surreal, almost like a fairytale, but now, it just seems like a necessary part of this society, yet a waste of time. Like, come on! Why did we get taken by somebody else at birth, when fourteen years later, we just have to find our real mom? Anyways, my locket won't open. Nobody's will, until we find our birth mother. Once we turn fourteen, we start the search for our mothers. My Celebration day is tomorrow, which means that I am eligible to start my search then, if I really want to.
In a way, I'm almost scared to start looking for her. I mean, what if she's, like, some wacko? I probably wouldn't want to know she was my mom in that case. But, then again, she could be some beautiful model! In a way, I want to find my real mom and see where all my traits and personality comes from, but what if she doesn't like me or doesn't want to know who I am? It's a lot to think about for a fourteen-year-old.
I guess, in a way, my mind is my enemy. If I didn't think about it and just went for it, I would probably love her no matter what she's like. But that's a hard thing to do for me because I'm a he-uge over thinker.
Maybe if I try to get some sleep, tomorrow will come faster and I can worry about this then, when I'm fourteen years old. Just maybe.
"No, Mom! Wait up! Don't leave me here! What do I do? What are you doing with her? That's not yours! I am! Remember me? Your daughter you just gave birth to? Come ba-"
"Ah!" I bolt upright, wiping the sweat from my brow and breathing heavily.
I can already hear my mom bolting up the stairs. I haven't seen or talked to her since our fight last night. I'm probably going to be in loads of trouble.
I can hear the door creak open. Her face peeks through the crack in the door. She sees me awake and walks over to me.
"Are you okay?" she asks me in a hoarse, but gentle voice.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just a dream," I answered her in a whisper.
"Well, usually dreams are pleasant," she informed me.
"I know. I guess it was more of a nightmare then," I told her, but in my mind, I wasn't quite sure what it was. It could've been a dream, but it wasn't one that gave you a warm and fuzzy feeling. Although, it also could've been a nightmare, yet it wasn't all that scary. Whatever it was, though, it was really weird.
I manage to get back to sleep after a few hours of freaking out about that dream-nightmare-thingamajig.

At 7:01, I get woken up by my mother. She wraps a blindfold around my eyes and takes me downstairs to what I think is the dining room. The smell of freshly baked pancakes fills the air and drifts up into my nose, making me smile a little.
She rips the blindfold off of my face to reveal a towering stack of pancakes smack-dab in front of me. The tower is about twelve pancakes high, with a couple extra inches of whipped cream and berries plopped on top of it, syrup dribbling down all the sides. I can spot a pile of bacon on a separate plate off to the side, crispy and steaming. It all smells and looks so good, but my appetite is nowhere to be found. Pancakes are my favorite food, but I can't find the place inside of me that wants to eat them.
"Thanks, Mom, this all looks really good," I thank her and walk away.
"But wait! Honey? Don't you want some?" she calls after me, but I don't answer her, I keep walking, because I have more important things to do, I have to find my real mom.

I stomp up the stairs and fling open the door to my room. I reach over and grab my blue and black striped shoulder bag and stuff some things in my bag. When I'm done, the bag is stuffed to the top with chips, a First Aid Kit, pencils and paper, a long rope, a book and my navy blue, and an anchor patterned water bottle filled with, well, water. I also folded up a blanket and a pillow and carried them beside my waist. My mom knocks on my door but I ignore it.
"I guess I might be needing some of these survival things sooner than I expected," I thought to myself.
"I know you're in there!" my mom exclaimed, reaching to turn the knob.
Instead of locking the door, I reach into my bag and grab the long rope. Hoping it won't snap, I run over to my window, prop it open and tie the rope to the little metal ring on my window frame. Considering I have no experience in survival skills or rope tricks, I hope for the best, grab onto the rope, and jump out my window.
Blue rushes past me in a blur. All I can hear is the sound of the wind slapping me from all four sides. Maybe my mom is calling me, but I can't tell because the wind is fierce. When I reach the ground, I land with a "thud!" Now everything seems back to normal and I, in fact, can hear my mom calling me. I have very limited time, so I let go of the rope, reposition my bag on my shoulder, and run for it. Thinking of all of my Physical Education classes in the past, I try to remember what the teacher said about sprinting. I think it was something like start out slower and work your way to get faster. Considering I've been running for about a minute and a half now, I speed up a little, but before I can get going too fast, I run into somebody.
"Sorry!" I exclaim, desperately hoping they won't get mad.
"No, no, no! Don't worry about it! It was my fault, my apologies," she said in a friendly tone. "Are you okay?" she asks me with a worried look on her face.
"Oh yeah. I'm fine, thanks."
When I answer her, I look right into her bright green eyes and realize that they look strikingly familiar. In fact, they look almost exactly like mine. Before I get a chance to talk to her, she turns around and starts to walk away.
"No, wait!" I call after her.
"Yeah?" she answers me in a smooth and relaxed voice.
"Do you want to hang out?"
"Yeah, sure! Where do you wanna go?"
"Umm. Do you want to go to Urban Juice?"
"Sure," she answers me and starts walking down the road towards downtown.
I follow behind her, studying her figure. She is extremely skinny but very tall. She dresses in a very down to earth style. It seems like she's wearing some sort of upcycled, plum colored sweater, and a wool, olive green skirt.
The reason I asked her to come get a juice is because I want to know more about her, because maybe it will help me find my birth mother.
When we reach the juice bar, she holds open the door for me. We both order spinach-raspberry smoothies and we sit at a comfy, purple booth.
"So," I start, "How old are you?"
"Oh! I turned fourteen this morning," she says excitedly.
I just about choke on my juice. "Really? Me too!"
"Cool! So, do you live with your birth mom or are you trying to find her?" she asks carefully.
"I just set out to find her a couple of hours ago, but I was wondering if maybe you could help me? And what about you? Do live with your birth mother?"
"Oh, I don't know if I could help you. I live with my real birth mom and I am very happy about it. She's really beautiful. Oh! And I never asked your name. Mine's Carly."
"Ok. Wow you're lucky! I am Rosie," I say as I look at Carly once again. Not only do we both have similar eyes, but our face shape is almost identical.
"Well, I don't know if this would help, but my mom's name is Karen Alberry."
"Okay. Thank you. Do you have any siblings?"
"Well, so far, not that I have met, but my mom said that when I was born, she actually had triplets, but one of them didn't make it and the other one was a girl, but she got taken by somebody else. I'm dying to meet her. I hope that she is having a good life so far."
"Wow! This might sound crazy, but do you think we look similar?"
"Now that you say that, yes! We totally do!"
"Does that mean that-" before I have the chance to say anything else, Carly gets up out of her seat and gives me a giant hug.
"You're my sister!" she exclaims.
And just like that, our lockets break open and filled the room with a beautiful, glowing green.