for others who might have been created there too. I’m great at sports, but I don’t particularly like them.”
I stop reading for a second. Triagon doesn’t like sports. He could be a superstar at them, like Connor and Alexis, but chose not to play. I wonder what Connor’s life would have been like if he’d chosen not to play. He told me the night before he died that after the game where he couldn’t miss, he wanted to quit.
It was too much pressure, and he was just a little kid. But Dad was so proud and excited. Hell, the whole town was. He felt like he didn’t have a choice. When you’re so good at something and people have such high expectations, you can’t let them 6 7
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
down. I wish Connor hadn’t cared so much about other people and their expectations. I wish he’d spent his eighteen years doing whatever the hell he wanted. I keep reading.
“I love chess and foreign languages and playing Brahms concertos on the piano. I’m not trying to brag or anything. The truth is, I’m not normal, and it kind of freaks me out. Were you created in a lab? You might not know. My parents didn’t tell me. Not until I wore them down with questions about why my brothers have hemophilia and I don’t, and why I have blue eyes when no one else does, and why I can sing and play music when both my parents are tone-deaf. When I started searching for my birth parents, they cracked, finally telling me that while I am theirs biologically, I wasn’t conceived the typical way.
“A Dr. Mueller from Genesis Innovations had contacted them. He told them he could give them a healthy child, and he did. But I know there’s more to it. I’m more than healthy.
Please let me know if you relate to any of this. Maybe you have some super skill. Maybe you’re exceptionally good-looking.
(If you’re female and this applies to you, then please, please, get in touch with me!) But seriously, it’s kind of lonely being so . . . superior. I’m not sure how else to say it. Normal would be nice.”
I look back at his picture again, then open another tab and Facebook him. His profile picture shows him seated at the piano. It wasn’t taken onstage, but in a living room, and he’s hamming it up for the camera. His mouth and eyes are wide open and while his two hands are poised over the keys, so is one foot. He looks like a goofball. He looks like someone I’d 6 8
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
love to meet. He lives in Nebraska, if his page is accurate. Went to Lincoln High School and will be attending Eastman Conser-vatory on a full music scholarship in the fall. Wow. I send him a friend request, then Google his name.
I bet anything that Triagon Summers was the valedictorian of his graduating class. His name pops up, and there it is—he’s dead.
He died April 12 of heart failure. His father found him slumped over the piano. He was rushed to the hospital but never revived. He died on his eighteenth birthday.
Part of me wants to run upstairs and tell Mom and Dad—a big part of me, because they’re supposed to fix things. They’re supposed to be able to make everything all right. But I don’t want to tell them, not yet. Not until I know more. To be honest, I don’t think my legs would carry me up the stairs anyway.
I go back to Triagon’s blog and check for any responders.
There’s one from “Anonymous,” requesting that any genetically modified “babes” be passed on to him after Triagon is done with them. There’s one from Holly Stephenson sympathizing with his feelings of isolation and saying that while she isn’t “superior in the looks department,” she has a “superior personality” and would love to get to know him better.
James M. writes, “Couldn’t believe it when I read this. I’ll send you a friend request on Facebook. Accept it. We need to talk.” It’s dated April 13. Triagon never accepted his friend request, but James M. must know that, because there’s another response on April 15. It simply says, “RIP.”
James M. Why couldn’t James M. put his whole name? Hell, 6 9
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
what if he’s dead too? It can’t be