100% Perfect Ch.2

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100% Perfect Ch. 2

“Mom!” Bailey cried out. I still cringed whenever she called me mother, considering her actual mom was some gene donor. But hey, the lab wanted me to be her caretaker. So yay. At least she could pass for my daughter. “Yes honey?” I said. Bailey, at age eight, had an IQ greater than Einstein’s and a personality sweeter than sugar. Apparently perfect was possible. “Swim practice!” She said, coming down the stairs in her pale blue swimsuit, goggles, and swim cap. I sighed. She was the best swimmer on the team, considering she didn’t have to come up to breathe. I was surprised people haven’t become suspicious.

Bailey swam gracefully under the chlorinated water. The other swimmers were far behind her when she hit the wall of the pool and swam down the length once more. Bailey’s head bobbed up out of the water, and the coach gave her a nod of approval. Best time in three weeks, 21.9 seconds. Bailey smiled her pearly whites and went back under, swimming another lap. The other girls on the team gave her a look of disgust when she could do two laps in the time they did one. Bailey simply got out of the pool, took off her goggles and swim cap, and then flipped her hair. The other girls looked at her jealously.

“Mom, why do they hate me?” Bailey asked. “They don’t hate you! They just wish they had what you had.” I said. Bailey sighed and looked out the window of the mini-van. “Mom, Jasper told me something today.” I jumped. Jasper was our dog. “Jasper our dog Jasper?” “Yep. He said that the poodle down the street is in heat and he wishes he could just be her baby daddy, whatever that means.” I coughed. “What? Sweetie, dogs can’t talk.” “They do to me.”


“Gordon listen to me. I’ve never seen her go to the bathroom once in her life, she breathes underwater, and she talks to the freaking dog!” I said to him at the lab the next morning. “She’s eight. When’s the last time you saw an eight year old pee? Exactly. Never. And she can’t breathe underwater. We made her perfect, not superhuman. Oh, again, she’s eight. Like when you were eight you didn’t pretend you could talk to your dog.” Gordon argued in his Australian accent. His shaggy brown hair fell just below his brow. “She’s not normal.” “Well no duh Steph, that tends to happen when you change the genetic make-up of someone!” I fiddled with the test tube of blood in my hand, used to genetically splice some weird frog from South America and a Pigeon. Flying frogs. Lovely. “Look. She was supposed to be perfect, yes. And I can’t say I don’t love her. She’s pretty much my little girl. But seriously. I was walking Jasper this morning when he walked down the corner to see Lila, Ms. Klein’s poodle, peeing. He basically went bezerk.” “Yeah, an eight year old totally can’t tell when a female poodle’s in heat and the male Labrador wants to screw it over.” I hit Gordon on the arm. “Idiot.” I muttered.

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