"Yes," Amy said. "Excuse me, I have to go!" And without taking another look at the woman on the bench, she ran off into the night.

10.

Amy lay in bed on Sat.u.r.day morning, her eyes focused on a crack in the ceiling. The crack had been there forever, or at least as long as she could remember. As a child, she would imagine that it had the shape of a rabbit. A specific memory came back to her. She couldn't have been more than four when Nancy sat on the edge of her bed and read to her the story of Madeline, the little Parisian girl who had her appendix taken out in a hospital. In the story, Madeline looked at a crack in the ceiling of her hospital room and thought it looked like a rabbit. Amy's mother pointed out the crack on Amy's ceiling, and together they marveled at the coincidence.

Her mother . . . of course, Amy still a.s.sociated Nancy with that word. Who else would she think of? Certainly not Camilla with her crazy story.

After leaving Camilla at the bus shelter, Amy ran all the way home at top speed. She felt safe doing that in the darkness. No one could see her. These abilities of hers, to move faster than others, to see better and hear better - there was no way they could be the result of some medication for pregnant women. If that had been true, and even if the drug had only been experimental, every pregnant woman in the world would have been clamoring to take it. Who wouldn't want to have a child who could do everything better than other children?

Thank heavens Nancy was a sound sleeper. Amy had no problem sneaking into the house and up the stairs to her room. She didn't sleep very soundly, though. She had strange, restless dreams, and she woke up after each dream.

They were nothing like her old nightmare of being trapped under gla.s.s while a fire raged around her. In these dreams, she saw Dr. Jaleski . . . only he didn't look like Dr. Jaleski. He had the face of a stranger. Which was interesting, because if Camilla had been speaking the truth about Dr. Jaleski, he certainly wasn't the man Amy had thought he was.

But Camilla couldn't have been speaking the truth, because the story was just too bizarre. On the other hand, that was exactly what Amy had thought when she'd first heard Nancy's story about her origin.

What would someone else think? There weren't many people Amy could talk to. She picked up the phone and dialed.

Eric answered right away, and he sounded pleased to hear from her. "I'm sorry I woke you last night," he apologized. "I went out for pizza with the guys to celebrate the victory, and I didn't realize how late it was."

"That's okay, it wasn't so late," Amy said. "I was just feeling kind of wiped out."

"I don't blame you," Eric said. "You had a creepy experience yesterday. You know, Amy, the more I think about that Camilla woman, the more I keep thinking we should call the police."

"She doesn't want to hurt me, Eric," Amy began, but Eric didn't let her continue.

"Maybe not, but I've heard about stalkers. They don't always think they're going to hurt their victims, but sometimes they do. Remember that movie star who was killed by some maniac who said he was in love with her? Then he killed himself so they could be together in heaven. These people aren't normal."

"Neither am I," Amy reminded him. "But listen, Eric - "

"At least let's tell your mother about her," Eric suggested.

"No! I - I don't want her to start worrying. She's got too much other stuff on her mind."

Eric sighed. "Okay, but I wish you'd change your mind. Look, I gotta run. The coach wants to meet with the team to go over what we did right last night. Guess he's hoping for a repeat performance. You wanna talk to Tasha?"

"Yeah."

She heard him bellow, "Tasha, Amy's on the phone!"

Tasha came on the line. "Hi, what's up?"

"Wait a second," Amy said. She could hear her mother downstairs, moving around. She went to her door and closed it gently. Even though she felt very sure her mother couldn't hear anything, she spoke to Tasha in a whisper. "I want to tell you what happened last night," she began.

Tasha didn't interrupt. There was total silence on the other end of the line as Amy related her adventure of the night before and Camilla's strange story. When she had finished, all Tasha could do was gasp.

"Amy . . . do you think it could be true?"

"No, of course not," Amy said.

"But why would she make up a story like that?"

"I don't know, but . . ." Amy stopped suddenly. She thought she heard a click on the phone. "h.e.l.lo? Is someone else on the line?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie." It was Nancy's voice. "I didn't realize you were on the phone. Let me know when you're off, okay? I need to make a call." There was another click, which told Amy that Nancy had hung up.

"Tasha, I'll call you back later," Amy said. She hung up the phone and ran downstairs. "I'm off the phone, Mom."

"Thanks." Her mother picked up the kitchen extension and dialed. "It's busy," she murmured, and hung up.

Amy was looking out the window at the gray sky. "Mom, when is my week of being grounded over? Is it Wednesday?"

Nancy joined her at the window and put a hand on her shoulder. "I suppose I should give you time off for good behavior."

Amy winced, knowing her mother wouldn't have said that if she'd known what Amy had done the night before.

"And I know it was hard for you not to go to Eric's game," her mother continued. "How about this? Let's say that as of tomorrow morning you're free."

"Thanks," Amy said.

Nancy went back to the phone and dialed again. "Still busy," she sighed.

"Mom?"

"What?"

"When I was created, with all the other Amys, what was the pattern? I mean, who did we come from?"

"I don't understand what you're asking," Nancy said.

"I know we're considered clones, but we had to have been cloned from someone, right?"

Nancy stared at her. Just then the phone rang, and she picked it up. "h.e.l.lo? Oh, hi, I've been trying to reach you. Do you have those papers in your office? Yes, fine. No, I'll come by today and pick them up. Bye."

She hung up the phone. "I'm sorry, Amy, what were you asking me?"

"Well, it's like the sheep clone. There was an original sheep that provided the DNA for the clone, Dolly, right? So who was the original source for us?"

"I explained that to you before," Nancy said.

"I guess I forgot," Amy lied. "Could you explain it to me again?"

"Cells were collected from a large number of people who were considered superior in specific ways," Nancy told her. "The DNA from these cells was extracted and configured in an attempt to duplicate a specific talent or ability. The cells were grown and divided. . . ." She went on with her description of the process. Amy had heard it all before.

"So there was no original," Nancy finished. "Unless you count the hundred or more people whose cells were used. But only a small part of each person contributed to making the Amys, so I wouldn't call any of them a pattern."

"Sounds complicated," Amy remarked.

"I'm sure it was," her mother said.

"What do you mean, you're sure it was? Weren't you there?"

"Not at the very beginning of the project," Nancy told her. "I was hired in the second month, after the cells were harvested."

"I see," Amy said thoughtfully. "But there were twelve identical clones that grew at the same pace?"

"That's right." Her mother hesitated. "Well, originally, there were thirteen."

"Thirteen!"

"Yes. One of the organisms was defective."

"So it was destroyed?" Amy asked.

"Actually, I'm not sure," Nancy said. She moved over to the window. "Is something wrong, Amy? You haven't asked me questions like this in a long time."

"I'm just curious," Amy said lightly. "And bored. I have to stay inside all day today, remember?"

Nancy laughed. "It's not a bad day for staying inside," she noted, pointing out the dark clouds that hovered overhead. "I wish I could. I have my last round of interviews at the university."

"At least you've got something to do," Amy grumbled.

"You can read," Nancy pointed out. "Or watch TV, or play on your computer. You just can't go out or have any company."

"I know, I know," Amy said. "Can I make a phone call now or are you going online?"

"No, go ahead and make your call," Nancy said. "Just don't stay on too long, okay?" She went into her office and shut the door.

Amy went back upstairs to her room. The call she needed to make wouldn't take much time at all. No more than a minute.

She knew Mary Jaleski was out of town until Tuesday. But lots of people who traveled called their home phones to get their messages. Maybe Mary would do that. Amy wanted some answers, and the sooner the better.

She would have only a minute to make her request, so she wanted to prepare it carefully. It had to sound right, too. Nothing too urgent. She didn't want Mary to suspect her real motives for calling. She had to say the right thing, with the right att.i.tude.

Taking a pad and pen from a drawer, she sat down at her desk to write out the message she would leave on Mary's answering machine.

h.e.l.lo, Mary, this is Amy Candler. I was thinking about you yesterday, because I met a woman named Camilla Jaleski, and I was wondering if you were related to her.

She read that over and shook her head. No, that wasn't right. If Amy said she had met Camilla, Mary would wonder why she hadn't simply asked Camilla if she was related to Mary. She started again.

h.e.l.lo, Mary, this is Amy Candler. I was thinking about you yesterday, because I met a woman named Camilla Jaleski, and she says she's related to you. Is that true?

No, she couldn't say that. It sounded too suspicious. She gave her approach more thought.

After a few minutes she began to write again.

h.e.l.lo, Mary, this is Amy Candler. I was just thinking about you. I'm doing some volunteer work for . . .

She paused to think of something that would sound legitimate. It would have been useful at that moment to be able to consult Tasha, with her creative imagination. But Amy wasn't totally lacking in creativity.

I'm doing some volunteer work for the Children's Orchestra of Los Angeles. It's a fund-raising campaign, and I have to call a bunch of people. One of the people on my list is named Camilla Jaleski, and I wondered if she was any relation to you.

Yes, that was an excellent approach. That way she wouldn't have to admit to having met Camilla. And it gave her a real excuse for calling Mary. She could say that she was hoping Camilla would donate money if she knew Amy was a friend of Mary's.

Perfect. Amy refined the message, and then she timed it to make sure she could say it all in less than a minute. She just hoped there wasn't a real Children's Orchestra of Los Angeles and that if there was, Mary didn't know all about it.

As she dialed, she practiced speaking in a light and casual tone. Mary's phone began to ring, and Amy held the paper in front of her so that she could start reading immediately after the tone.

It was a total shock when the phone was answered by an actual human voice.

"h.e.l.lo?"

Amy almost dropped the paper she was holding, and she couldn't speak.

"h.e.l.lo?" Mary asked again.

Amy tried to keep her voice from shaking. "h.e.l.lo, Mary, this is Amy Candler."

"Amy, h.e.l.lo! What a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Fine. I was out of town on business, and I got back today, earlier than I expected. In fact, I just walked in the door. What can I do for you?"

There was a pause. Mary was waiting for Amy to state her reason for calling.

"I'm calling because, because . . . have you ever heard of someone named Camilla Jaleski?" Amy blurted out.

There was a moment of silence before Mary spoke. "Camilla Jaleski," she said softly. "Good heavens. It's been a long time since I heard that name."

"Do you know her?"

"Yes. She was my father's second wife. They weren't married very long, and I only met her once. I was living out here with my mother at the time. I rarely saw my father in those days, and I didn't talk to him much. Why are you asking about Camilla Jaleski?"

Now was the time for Amy to launch into her Children's Orchestra story, and she did. Mary seemed to buy it.

"Well, I don't think using my name will encourage her to donate money," Mary told her. "Like I said, we only met once." Her voice changed. "Amy, is this legal? I thought children couldn't be used by organizations for fund-raising activities."

"This is a special situation," Amy said quickly. "It was nice talking to you, Mary. Bye!" She hung up the phone.

It had been rude of her to end the conversation so abruptly. She should have asked Mary about her life, what she was doing, that sort of thing. Maybe talk about how much she missed Mary's father . . . who was maybe Amy's father too.