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“Wait a minute,” Ella says, working something out. “If you had a recorder, why didn’t you just end it right after she told you she cloned Petra? Why did you go along with her? Why did you allow us to go along with her?”
Mom blushes. “It wasn’t the best choice I’ve ever made.”
I furrow my eyebrows at her. “What do you mean?” Choice?
“I assessed the situation and didn’t feel like any of us were in life-threatening danger, so…” Mom stops talking just as it hits me. Suddenly, I know why she let us panic, let two of us think we were being kidnapped and the other one go on a wild-goose chase across the country in winter weather.
“She wanted to see Maggie’s lab,” I say disgustedly. “She wanted to see her research.”
The way my mom purses her lips together tells me two things. First, I’m right. And second, no matter what she says, science comes first.
“I’m done talking,” I say, standing up and leaving the living room. Over my shoulder, without looking back, I say it again. “I’m done.”
No one else comes upstairs for a long time. I call Sean and tell him about everything; we talk for a few minutes, but then he has to go because his mom is instituting Quality Family Time after he missed her favorite holiday.
“I could get out of it,” he says, “if you want to come over. Or I’ll come there? I mean, now that she knows about us…”
“She always knew about us,” I say, which makes me feel a little sick. Then, “I don’t feel like I can leave right now. They’re still talking down there; I want the update from Bet and Ella later.”
>Sean texts back:
GOOD LUCK.
“Go drop your stuff in your rooms and meet me in the living room,” Mom says when we’re all inside. “I think it’s time the four of us had a good, long chat.”
Ella, Betsey, and I do as she says. Upstairs, my room looks too boring, too bland. I wish I could go to the mall and buy some more posters, but instead, I have a tongue-lashing to look forward to. I head back downstairs, bracing myself for trouble. But when I step into the living room, there’s a pint of ice cream on the coffee table—not even on a coaster—and bowls and spoons stacked to the side.
“I thought mint chip might make things easier,” Mom says, smiling weakly. I think of all she’s done, and I can’t smile back.
But I do accept the ice cream.
“First, I want to say how sorry I am for what happened this weekend,” Mom says, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
“What did happen?” Ella asks. “I’m still… I don’t really know why that woman did what she did.”
Mom sighs. “Maggie Kendall’s team tried to do what ours did: They tried to clone humans,” Mom says. “They were unsuccessful, or so I thought.”
“What does that mean?” Betsey asks.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Mom says. “Anyway, they played dirty, luring lab assistants to their space and trying to get them to share secrets. They tried to recruit me, and I’ll always regret taking the interview. For a while now, I’ve believed that Maggie was the one who turned in Dr. Jovovich. She’s a big part of the reason I’ve been looking over my shoulder all these years.”
I reach back and yank a throw pillow out from under me and toss it aside. I want to ask why Maggie just suddenly turned up now, but I don’t want to speak to Mom. Honestly, I’m not sure I trust a word she’s saying anyway.
Like she heard my thoughts, Ella asks, “How did Maggie find us?”
Mom looks away quickly, then back at Ella. Then her eyes fall on mine. “Lizzie, this isn’t your fault,” she says in a way that makes me think she’s saying it is my fault. “But she found us through Twinner… when you uploaded the photo of yourself and got a match.” She looks at Betsey when she says the next part. “I said earlier that I thought that Maggie hadn’t been successful cloning humans; I was wrong. Her team had been monitoring Petra.”
“Oh my god, she is the Original?” Betsey says excitedly.
“No, no,” Mom says, raising her palms. “Maggie said that when Dr. Jovovich and I claimed to have failed with the cloning, the clients went to her team next. They apparently succeeded one time, but the DNA wasn’t right. Apparently, she has something similar to progeria, but not nearly as severe.”
“What’s that?” Betsey asks, concerned.
“It’s when you age too quickly,” Ella says.
“Good,” Mom says to El, like we’re in class instead of talking about the fourth human clone. “That’s right. It’s rapid aging, and usually children with that issue have a life expectancy of only twenty years, tops. But in this case, it’s a mutation of that disease that’s much slower progressing. But still…” Her words trail off.
“Petra’s going to die?” Betsey asks. Mom doesn’t answer at first. Then, “I’m sorry, but yes, in her thirties or forties,” she says. “I know you’ve emailed with her. I know—”
