Eve and Adam

– 23 –

The next morning, Maddox has his money. I have extracted my own concession from Aislin: She’s staying with me until her parents get home. They e-mailed her to say they’re extending their trip for a week (Aruba) and I want her in a safe place. Just to make sure Maddox isn’t still being hunted.

She accepted with surprising ease. Is it possible the girl is learning from experience, finally? Is it possible she’s realized how toxic her relationship with Maddox is?

Or is she feeling sorry for her pal, the mutant?

Either way. I’m good with either.

I don’t know how my mother got the money to Maddox. I told her his name and she said that’s all she would need. She has toadies who do nothing but run her errands and cater to her whims. Blue M&M’s? No problem. Bikini wax? Time and place. Run 9K to an inept drug dealer? Gotcha covered.

At 6:30 A.M., Maddox texted Aislin with: Got it. Yur the best.

I contacted the assistant principal at school to let him know Aislin had been in a minor accident. Some stitches, no big deal. I’m not sure he believed me, but this close to the end of school, the staff gets pretty laissez-faire unless there’s a felony involved.

Also, they just rebuilt the gym with a giant check from my mother.

Dr. Anderson and his staff have chosen not to comment on my bandage-free leg and arm. Yesterday evening, when my mother arranged to have Aislin and me moved to one of the guest suites, Dr. Anderson even helped carry over my vases full of drooping flowers.

He looked a little bereft. I think he kind of liked having an actual patient. Especially one he knew he could cure.

“Where’s Scruffy McMuscles?” Aislin asks, as we settle into my workstation. “You said he’s working the coffee cart, right? I could use some caffeine. Or some other kind of stimulation.” She attempts a leer, but it clearly hurts too much to pull off.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to make do with Adam.” Aislin scratches her nose. “These stitches are driving me nuts.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.”

“How would you know, Bionic Woman?” Aislin asks.

She’s teasing, but I give her a sharp look.

“Too soon? Sorry.” She pats my shoulder. “Back to work. Let’s finish my fantasy man.”

Adam is now a handsome head full of dark hair that floats in the simulated liquid of his environment.

It turns out the software has an interesting feature I hadn’t noticed before. Not only can you age your creation up or down, you can adjust for lifestyle.

For the next hour, Aislin and I play with shoulders, chest, belly. We use slide bars to show the effects of our random choices. More or less appetite? More or less exercise? It’s a useful lesson in the limits of genetics.

Adam has the genes for a ripped chest and six-pack abs. But if we give him too much of a sweet tooth and too little restless energy, his stomach balloons.

“Let’s see what happens if he totally lets himself go,” I suggest.

I slide a bar, and suddenly Adam has man boobs.

“His are bigger than yours!” Aislin squeals.

I slide the bar back. Quickly.

I make a mental note: When I’m putting finishing tweaks on his brain, I need to remember that a little hyperactivity might not be a bad thing. Maybe some bundle of genes that will make him crave the outdoors.

He needs to mountain bike. Play tennis. Something aerobic.

Maybe he could be a runner, like I am.

Aislin ogles Adam as he floats in midair like a ghostly Adonis. In the corner of the room, two secretaries whisper and giggle. Someone provides a wolf whistle.

“I think it’s time to face facts,” Aislin says. “Boy parts are on the menu.”

“We haven’t done the legs yet.”

“Oh, I get it. We’re going to kind of close in. Come at it from all other directions first. Leave the best for last.” She elbows me. “Sort of the story of your love life, isn’t it? Leaving the best for last. Or at least for much later.”

“There’s no rush to—”

“Or even much, much later, poor baby.”

“Legs!” I yell the word. I don’t mean to yell the word. I just do.

“Fine, legs,” Aislin concedes. “Short and stumpy?”

“No,” I say. “Although we can try them out. I mean, what am I doing here? Eliminating every imperfection?”

“Well, duh.”

“But who’s to say what’s perfect?”

Aislin shrugs like it’s a stupid question. Maybe it is. But I’d rather debate philosophical questions than sit here with my best friend and design things I’ve never actually, you know… seen. Except in diagrams in health class. And the occasional Google image by accident.

“Really, Aislin. Everybody’s messed up in their own unique way, right? Nobody’s perfect.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” I insist.

“Right. This from the girl who wouldn’t let Finnian Lenzer ask her out because his hair was too blond?”

“He’s practically an albino,” I say. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“’Toine Talbert was too short. And John Hanover was too thin. And Lorenzo whose last name I forget had a funny face. And you blew off Carol because you’re not a lesbian.”

“That’s not exactly my fault,” I say.

“What did you expect Carol to think? You kept saying no to boys. Naturally she was going to think you played for her team.”

“I’m not attracted to girls.”

“But you are attracted to boys?”

“You know I am!”

“In theory. Not so much in reality.”

“I’m selective.”

“You said you couldn’t go out with Tad. Why?”

I mumble something.

Aislin cups a hand to her ear. “What was that, now? You couldn’t go out with Tad because…?”

“Because his name is Tad!” I yell in frustration. “How can I date a guy named Tad? It’s a ridiculous name.”

“Also Chet.”

“Chet? I’m going to date a guy named Chet? What is this, 1952? No one’s named Chet.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I have legs to make,” I say frostily.

“Make them short and bowed,” Aislin says.

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Oh, I know that,” she says, triumphant. “You’re going to make them long and muscular. You’re going to slide the lifestyle bar all the way over to track star.”

“Am not.”

But of course in the end that’s exactly what I do. Adam gets long legs. And muscular thighs. And well-developed calves.

He is now three disconnected bits. Leg. Leg. Torso and head.

There is, shall we say, a certain empty space in between those three pieces.

“The undiscovered country,” Aislin intones in a video voice-over.

“Muffins, anyone?”

Solo enters, rolling the coffee cart.

“My point exactly,” Aislin says, motioning him over.

I have several long, long seconds to wonder which is more embarrassing: a giant image of an Adam with a number of missing parts? Or an Adam with those parts?

“How’re you feeling, Aislin?” Solo asks. He doesn’t glance at me.

“I’m better now,” she says, giving him an up-and-down. She grabs a cruller.

“Heard you moved out of the clinic,” Solo says, looking at me for the first time.

“No point in staying,” I reply flatly. “I’m a freak of nature, as you know.”

“Yeah, well. I’m on food-cart duty for one more day,” Solo says, as if I’d just told him I had a hangnail. “I thought I’d come by and see whether you need anything. Chips? Snickers bar?” He pauses, surveying our incomplete Adam. “Hot dog?”

Aislin leans forward, very serious. “Do you have anything heartier than a hot dog? Say, a kielbasa? Italian sausage? A whole salami?”

She is making hand gestures as she goes along.

Solo’s face goes red. He’s only good for about one round of flirtation with Aislin. After that he loses his way.

“He’s shy,” Aislin reports to me as if Solo isn’t there. “I don’t know: Should we make Adam shy? It’s kind of cute.”

“I’ll take a sandwich. Not salami,” I say. “Turkey.”

Solo pulls a turkey sandwich off his cart. He hands it to me and snags a napkin. The napkin drops to the floor. I automatically reach for it, but Solo’s already down on one knee. He grabs the napkin and hands it to me.

Except that when I reach for it, he’s got my hand in his and the napkin is only part of what he’s giving me.

Something small, maybe an inch long, hard and rectangular.

Our eyes meet.

He stands up.

“The other night, I noticed you had your laptop in your room,” he says quietly. “MacBook Pro. A little old school, huh? Still has a USB drive.”

And I know right then what he’s slipped me. A thumb drive.

I can pull it out, notice it, hand it back to him. I can stop whatever he’s up to right now.

I crumple the napkin in my lap in a way that Aislin won’t see. I glance down and confirm that it’s a flash drive. There’s a small Apple logo.

Solo escapes from the room before I can say anything. Before Aislin can say anything else.

Aislin watches him go, enjoying the rear view with the practiced eye of experience. “If you don’t, E.V., I just may.”

I have a quavery, uneasy feeling in my chest. I don’t know what’s on that thumb drive. But I know it’s a secret.

I know it’s a secret from a boy who hates my mother.

Just a little longer and I can go home, I tell myself. I will have kept the deal with my mother.

And I’ll be safe from Solo.

“I’ve got to pee,” Aislin announces. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she’s out of the room, I pull the flash drive from the napkin and examine it. Nothing special. And yet somehow, I’m afraid of it.

I wrap it up and shove it into my sweater pocket.

Adam hovers before me, glowing and gorgeous. My unfinished masterpiece.

Suddenly, I feel this explosive restlessness, a craving for the fog and steep streets of San Francisco. I want out of this place. I want to run until my brain shuts off, my legs scream with exhaustion.

Before I can lose my nerve, I cast a quick glance at the screen and randomly tap some options. I don’t think about it; I just do it.

Aislin returns just as I hit the last button: Apply Modifications.

A hum, a flicker, and there he is. My perfect man, with nothing—and I do mean nothing—left to the imagination.

I tilt my head, squinting. “What do you think?”

Aislin executes a flawless wolf whistle. “Girl,” she says, “I like your style.”