The Genetic Code

Chapter 3

Teachers from the West Wing tend to be Borders, since Borders are the bridge in the patent gap between Perfects and the rest of us.

I've only been to the East Wing a few times, and when I'm there, I try with all my volition to get in and out as fast as I can without being noticed. But it's blatantly obvious that you don't fit in when you're the only student in glaring white amidst the sea of dark blue silk. Today is no exception. I can feel holes being burnt into me from the dagger glares all around as I shuffle through the white halls, as if my grubby shoes are leaving a trail of dirt across their clean white tile.

After what seems like an eternity of sidelong stares and harsh whispers, I finally reach the cushioned double-doors to the Principal's office. I still have no idea what I did wrong. The whole way here I was racking my brain for some sort of explanation for having my name called over the PA system during class to proceed to the Principal's office. What fault did I commit besides being born an Imperfect? They can't expel me for that, can they? Unless they found out about—

The double doors are suddenly thrown open, and my thoughts are cut short. I raise my eyes and come face to face with a tall, broad-shouldered boy with disheveled dark hair. Hanging off his broad frame is a deep blue blazer with the school crest sewn on the left breast in intricate detail. He has high cheekbones and a squared jaw, clenched tightly. His thick lips look cut and slightly swollen and his right eye is bruised purple and blue. I find myself staring and quickly avert my eyes, looking down at my feet. It's never a good idea to stare at a Perfect for too long if you don't want any trouble.

He says nothing, silently brushing past me and sauntering off down the hall. Only when I'm sure he is not looking do I turn back and watch his tall figure getting further away. What happened to his face?

I find myself being summoned into the Principal's office and instantaneously turn my attention back to the task at hand: rehearsing my best pity-garnering apologetic face, puppy dog eyes and all. I recite in my head, I'm so sorry, ma'am, for my horrible, horrible behavior. I know I've done extremely wrong, but please, from the bottom of your benevolent heart, find the will to forgive such a despicable person as myself, for whatever it is I did or didn't do. Even though I actually have no idea what I did because I didn't do anything, I will do my very best to correct this terrible behavior and will never ever repeat it again. And end with a cracked voice and some tears. Maybe even a sob story about failed dreams if I can afford to squeeze it in.

I take a deep breath before stepping through those heavy double-doors into the realm of the crowning rector.

As soon as I enter I have to withhold my gasp of awe. This office is nothing like I've ever seen.

The entire fore-wall is a full-length faceted convex surface of glass. There was something about the way the window reflected light that suggested it was not ordinary glass. The ceiling hovered approximately 12 feet above the ground, with an enormous crystal chandelier suspended in the middle of the office, directly above the intricate Persian rug. The room extends across a broad length, with white marble fountainheads erected out of the walls at the two ends of the room at fixed intervals. The fountainheads spray smooth streams of water downwards into the small indoor pond where plants shoot. Everything about the room, all the way down to the height of each plant, is perfectly symmetrical. The Principal's desk is stationed right in the middle of the room, carved with detailed rococo designs.

Poised at the table is a woman with a strict face and back hair sleeked up into a tight bun.

Her face looks stretched back by surgery, pulled taut over her cheekbones. It failed to hide her other signs of aging; the crinkles at the corners of her eyes, laugh lines and hints of gray weaved in her black hair. Thin lips, stained in red, a long, narrow nose and judging eyes that slant upwards like a fox, drawn in dark black eyeliner.