by Sarah Porter
“Excuse me. Can I please have my stick back?” Oh, he’s already got my vial in his hand. Ada Lahey. I want to grab it from him and smash it on the pavement, but then they’d figure it out anyway.
“Nope, little lady. You sure can’t.” He slides my stick inside the glass tube and closes the lid. “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“But my dad has opted out of routine testing. I mean for me. It’s against our religion!” My voice is jumping. I can’t afford to sound upset. I’ll give myself away.
“Ah, well.” He grins and all his sloppy, doggy friendliness is completely gone. “Maybe this isn’t so routine after all.”
“Um, what? Are you taking about? I mean, why would anyone want—” Aidan sputters. He and Josiah look totally confused.
“I’m glad to see you boys don’t understand what this is about,” the nurse says, finishing up with the last stick. “That tells me a lot right there.”
“So—what is it about?”
The nurse makes a face halfway between a grin and a sneer. His glasses flare like two holes full of burning sun. “Ada knows. Ooh, she knows exactly what we’re looking for—and I bet I know ex-act-ly what we’re going to find. Why don’t you ask her?”
They stare at me while he walks away.
I might as well say it. I won’t be able to hide it much longer. They’ve got the stick, and that means I’m doomed. I want to run after him, grab his lab coat, and beg him for mercy, but I saw that sneer. There’s no mercy for kids like me.
“They’re looking for kimes. He tricked us into giving him our DNA, on those sticks. So they can analyze it.”
“Gross! How could he think we’re kimes?” Aidan flings himself off the bench and starts stalking around with his back hunched, his arms bowed out, and his face twisted horribly. “I’m a kime! I’m a kime!”
No, Aidan, you aren’t. Or if you are, you don’t know it.
A kime? That would be me. A kime, short for chimera: a word that starts out like chimney but that is actually pronounced kye-MEER-uh. It means a kind of monster with the parts of two different animals, or more than two. And I’ve known what I am for years.
∗ ∗ ∗
I can’t make myself call my dad and tell him what happened. He and my mom will find out as soon as the tests on my saliva are finished, and she’ll be nauseated to learn she’s been raising a monster, and he’ll be devastated that he couldn’t protect me from people finding out. Because he figured out the truth when I was still a little girl. He knew before I did.
It’s the worst thing that can happen to a parent. That’s what my mom always says. It’s worse to give birth to a chimera than it is to watch your kid die in front of you. Of course she has no idea how that makes me feel, every single time. She completely missed the irony of what she was doing, working on all those anti-kime campaigns, after people started to realize the possibility of kimes like me: the ones where you can’t tell just by looking at them. I think the reason my dad never discouraged her is that he didn’t want her to get suspicious.
The instant I get home, I run into my room and throw myself face-down on the mattress, but somehow I can’t cry. How did I fool myself into thinking I’d get away with it forever? I grind my face in the pillow, but there’s no relief, and I guess I don’t deserve any. I’m being punished, because lying was a terrible thing to do.
Whatever made me a kime might be contagious, possibly; no one really knows. That’s why the whole South Fork of Long Island is under quarantine and no one can leave here. So far, Chimera Syndrome hasn’t spread outside the area under containment. Everyone stuck behind the line is terrified out of their minds of having kids like me. My dad really should have turned me in as soon as he realized I was a monster, but he was too selfish. He loved me too much. And I told myself that what we were doing was just fine.
Every time I heard my mom, or a newscaster, or our principal say that chimeras represented a threat to the very survival of the human race, I told myself they were just being dramatic. I told myself I was human in all the ways that count. Like, why shouldn’t I see things other people can’t? What’s so bad about that?
But I knew. Secretly I knew why it was wrong. Say, if a pregnant woman near me at the grocery store catches whatever it is I have, her baby might not be so lucky. Her baby might end up with something a lot worse than crazy vision, or it might even die. A lot of kimes die as soon as they’re born, or before. That was the first sign that there was something wrong: hundreds of deformed babies that came months early, already dead. Even now that they know to test for us before birth, it seems like a lot still slip through.
So maybe I’ve killed people, not on purpose, but just because I wanted to be free and have a real life. Just from being greedy for everything normal people take for granted and putting myself first and not caring if that hurt someone else.
My mom will hate me when she finds out, and I guess she’ll be right.
I try to force the tears out, but all that happens is that my breath comes out sounding like someone hacking wood. I get up and grab my violin and bow instead, because whenever I can’t let myself say what I think, or whenever I can’t remember who I am inside, that’s my way out. You can only tell the truth with music, but music keeps your secrets at the same time.
I start off with the violin parts from this singer Andrew Bird, who my dad likes a lot. But pretty soon I let go of the melodies and just set the strings screaming. I’ll make the sounds that are right for me. Right for what I truly am.
Monster, I tell myself while I play. Ada Lahey is a disgusting monster. She deserves to be locked up. Monster. Monster.
Chapter Two
THREE DAYS go by, and I almost start to hope there’s been some miracle that will let me keep living with my secret intact, like maybe the car carrying those nurses was in an accident and the vials got smashed and they were both killed, or the machines that read the DNA broke down and no one can fix them, or somebody in the lab doesn’t believe kimes are bad after all and decided to fake my results. And then, so many kimes are still being born all over the quarantined zone that it seems obvious the tests can’t be that reliable. See? I’m so good at lying that I can even lie to myself.
And it’s wrong for me to hope they won’t get me, anyway. It doesn’t matter that I would never hurt anyone on purpose. I’m dangerous whether I want to be or not, and they have every right to take me away—to wherever kimes go. Somewhere out in Sag Harbor.
I didn’t hear the bell go off, but it must have, because when I look up, everybody is leaving. I jump and start grabbing my things, but Ms. Holleman is already there with her hand on my arm—and there’s this sick look on her pale, saggy face that tells me everything. Her eyes are so light they look like raindrops on a window.
“Oh, Ada. I had a bad feeling. I should have known, I should have—I don’t know what I could have done—tried to hide you somehow, warn you. I am so very sorry.”
That’s why they used that trick. They were smart enough to realize some teachers would try to protect their students, kimes or not. Maybe most teachers wouldn’t, but a few would.
“Did you know?” I ask—but really it doesn’t matter anymore, so I don’t wait for her to answer. “What do I have to do?”
“They’ve called in your parents. And there’s a Mr. Collins here to discuss your results. The principal has loaned them her office for a meeting. Oh, Ada, if there’s anything at all I can do—”
“You can’t. But thank you for wanting to.” She’s about to start crying and I can’t stand it, so I jump up with my books in my arms. Probably I won’t need them anymore, though. “Um, goodbye.”
And I bolt out of the room before she can say anything else. Dealing with my parents is going to be more than enough. The hallway is already mostly empty, and I run like a lunatic the whole way, because if I stop, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep moving at all. My stomach is so bunched and knotted that I’m running bent
over, and I practically crash into the door to the principal’s office. It’s ajar, and my dad’s face stares at me through the gap.
He looks like somebody just stabbed him and he’s doing his best to hold in the blood.
I push the door open and then stand there.
“Ada Lahey?” a man says; he must be Mr. Collins. He has very short brown hair and a face like a wad of bubble gum, pink and slick. He’s sitting across the desk in the principal’s fat brown chair, and her artificial flowers reflect on his skin in orange blobs.
I can’t force my voice out, so I nod.
“You can have a seat.”
My legs won’t move. After five seconds my dad gets partway up, reaches for me, and pulls me next to him, so one half of me is perched on the side of his chair.
“Do you know why we’re here, Ada? We have some test results for you that are quite significant.”
“Then there’s been a mistake.” That’s my mom. She’s right next to me, and I can see the edge of her cream-colored sleeve, the tiny ruffles around her golden-brown hand and her sapphire ring, but I can’t look at her face. I can’t. “Now that you see Ada, see her for yourself, you have to realize there’s no way this test could be accurate. My Ada, she’s an excellent student, a gifted musician, beautiful, polite—”
“No mistake, Mrs. Lahey. The results are plain. Forty-five, forty-six.”
“Excuse me!” my mom shrieks, though she knows what that means. I can feel my dad flinch.
“Human DNA has forty-six chromosomes. With Ada, forty-five of those chromosomes are precisely what they should be. As human as you like. But the forty-sixth is of clearly nonhuman origin. From some sort of animal, though I couldn’t guess what. That is, she meets the legal definition of a chimera.”
My mom gives a muffled shriek. I haven’t looked up from her sleeve, and the cream silk is dancing with a filigree of more-than-silver, more-than-lilac.
“Of course, it’s entirely possible that none of that, ah, foreign DNA is actively expressed. She looks normal enough, I’ll grant you, and for all we know, her nonhuman genetic component doesn’t affect her in any way. But she could still be contagious. We simply don’t know.” He’s simpering at her, trying to comfort her. My mom is pretty, and men get like that when she’s around.
“We never gave permission for Ada to be tested.” My dad’s voice comes out guttural and hard.
“Of course you didn’t.” Mr. Collins doesn’t bother cooing at my dad. “You do realize that willfully concealing a chimera is punishable by five years in prison? A law I believe your wife campaigned for.”
“But no one could have ever imagined this!” My mom again. She grabs my hand for a second and squeezes it.
And then drops it, fast. Like she’s just realized what she’s touching.
Mr. Collins turns his simper back on. “Of course not. But now that we know, you of all people must understand, Mrs. Lahey. Steps must be taken.”
“But.” My mom gasps, and I finally glance her way. She’s so pale under her gold skin that she looks moonish, green and shining. “But—no one could ever tell! Mr. Collins, couldn’t you make an exception?”
I can tell from his smile that he’s been waiting for this. “According to the laws you worked so hard to pass? Absolutely not. You’re free to take her home. But she’ll have to be registered, and I think we all know what that will mean.”
It will mean mobs throwing stones through our windows, screaming at us every time we leave the house. Or doing worse things than that. I picture fire washing up our walls like a tangerine sea, coming to swallow us.
My dad’s arms contract so hard he crushes the air out of me. “Steps have already been taken! We’re all living under quarantine because of the chimeras. And being trapped on Long Island has been absolutely devastating for my career; it’s impossible to truly participate in the scientific community. Isn’t that enough of a sacrifice without handing over our daughter as well? So we thank you for your concern, Mr. Collins. But we’ll take our chances.”
“No.” It’s the first thing I’ve said since I walked in. It’s horrible, but it’s also a relief. “I won’t let you. I’m going—wherever it is kimes go.”
My mom lets out another little yelp. I’m the first one who’s gone ahead and said that word out loud.
“The Genesis Institute.” Mr. Collins blurts it out, like he’s been dying to say it. “Out in Sag Harbor. I hear it’s, uh, really very well run.”
“No. And I’m perfectly aware of the conditions at that place, though that’s hardly the point. I helped conduct studies there several years ago.” My dad has been protecting me for so many years that he can’t accept it’s all over now. “Our daughter is staying with her family.”
“Caleb, you know there’s more to think about than Ada. Of course . . . we still love her just the same. But then, the stress, and . . . It wouldn’t be healthy. Maybe keeping Ada isn’t the right choice for our family. For now, Caleb. Just for now.”
I look around at everyone to figure out what she’s talking about. My dad’s face is crumpled, hanging over his lap, but Mr. Collins looks as confused as I am.
“Mom?” I say. But I should have known better. She shrinks back, and on her face is the look I’ve dreaded for years now: squeamish and tight and terrified.
“You’re worried about the baby,” my dad says at last—and all at once I realize from the resigned droop of his voice that he’ll do it, he’ll give me up. I’ve always known my mom would want to send me away if the truth came out, but I thought he’d fight for me no matter what it took. I’m going, but I don’t want him to let me go.
Then his words sink in. “What baby?”
“A little brother or sister, Ada. Expected in January. We were planning to tell you soon.”
And I could infect Mom, he knows that. He’s known all along. So he took the chance that I would kill their new baby or turn it into some unspeakable half-human thing?
“Well, in that case,” Mr. Collins says in a that’s-all-settled voice.
“Ada, sweetheart, believe me,” my mom says—but she’s out of her chair now, cowering as far from me as she can get, her back pressed against the ugly bamboo wallpaper. Her black hair is coiled in a bun on the top of her head; blue sparks fly from the coil as she nods. “If we knew that it wouldn’t be unhealthy for the baby, then of course . . . of course . . .”
She doesn’t say of course what, though. She’d still want to get rid of me.
“It’s not a catastrophe, Mrs. Lahey,” Mr. Collins croons. “No need to treat it as one. Someday we’ll understand Chimera Syndrome, and once we know how to stop it from spreading, why then of course Ada can come right home. And why focus on the negative? Only one of her chromosomes is abnormal. One out of forty-six! So think instead about the forty-five chromosomes in your little girl that are just right.”
My mom gives him a big, dewy-eyed smile. She’s sliding toward the door.
“We can visit her, at least?” my dad says. And I know about the baby, I know, but my mouth tastes bitter, and my heart shrivels into something the size of an acorn, cold and hard and numb. He’s changing his mind so easily.
“If you’ve worked there before, Dr. Lahey, then you must know how the locals react to private cars when they see them leaving the gates. I assume your lab took the precaution of using marked vehicles, to avoid attacks?” A half smile. “Visit at your own risk.”
“She needs time to pack. To prepare.”
“We’ve picked up two others from the school in Riverhead, and they’re waiting in the van. I can give you fifteen minutes to go collect Ada’s things, if you like.”
I told myself I was ready for this, but now I want to start screaming. I’m leaving everything, my friends, my periwinkle blue room where my dad painted a border of musical notation in silver near the ceiling, with diamond-shaped notes. And then . . .
“My violin!”
My dad looks dazed, but my voice gets through
to him. He gets up, nodding hard. “Yes. Your violin. Of course, that’s essential. You can’t go without it. Yes, I’ll be right back.”
And then my parents are together at the door, staring at me. I almost get up to hug them goodbye, but I’m too afraid to feel my mom twisting away from my arms.
In a flash, the door is closing behind them, and I’m alone with Mr. Collins.
“You knew,” he snarls. He’s up, pacing uncomfortably close to me, back and forth. “I could see that in your face; you weren’t surprised in the slightest when I explained what you are. You knew, and you never told anyone. Is Chimera Syndrome like rabies? Do you freaks feel a desperate need to destroy as many innocent people as possible, by making them like you?”
Destroy people? I just wanted to be normal. Live like a regular person and not be locked up! But if I said that, he’d just hate me more.
“You said . . . it wasn’t so bad, with me. Forty-five out of forty-six. You said I’m almost human.”
His upper lip hikes. “If this were a spelling test, Ada, then forty-five out of forty-six would be excellent. But you were tested to see if you’re a human being, and that’s strictly pass or fail.” He stops right in front of my chair and bends down. It’s hard to breathe, like his pink blob face is suffocating me. “Forty-five? That means you fail.”
“You told my mom that she should focus on, on all the parts of me that are right! You said—”
“Good heavens. Of course I had the decency to try to make your poor mother feel better about this. I can barely imagine how dirtied she must feel, now that she knows what she’s been coddling.” He looks at me like I’m a giant spider. “They tell me your, ah, animal chromosome carries genes associated with vision. Pity we can’t dissect your eyes and learn the truth.”
My cheeks are burning and my throat constricts. I don’t want to let him see me cry, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold in my tears.