"Replica02 - Pursuing Amy - Kaye, Marilyn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaye Marilyn)

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Amy lied. "I've just got these feelings."

"I know," Tasha said. "It's puberty."

"Yeah, I guess so. See you later."

Inside the house, Amy found her mother upstairs in the master bedroom, modeling a dress in front of a mirror.

"What do you think of this dress?" Nancy asked her.

"It's cool," Amy said. "Did you just get it?"

Nancy nodded. "I decided to treat myself to something new."

"Are you wearing it Saturday night?"

"I might." Nancy spoke casually, but that didn't fool Amy. She sat down on her mother's bed and wondered what she would wear if she ever had a date with Eric. Not that there was much chance of that happening anytime soon. She didn't think he'd even started dating yet. And when he did, he'd probably prefer a flirty goody-goody like Jeanine who wouldn't outshoot him at hoops.

"What's the matter?" Nancy asked as she slipped out of the dress.

"Nothing," Amy replied automatically. Then she said, "Well, yeah, I have a problem." She told Nancy about the new swimming pool at school. "I won't be allowed to take classes if I don't bring in a medical certificate. And if I can't take swimming classes, everyone's going to think I'm weird."

"Oh, Amy, don't get carried away," Nancy said. "I'm sure there will be other students who don't take swimming lessons."

"Yeah, the ones who belong to some religion that doesn't allow them to wear bathing suits," Amy muttered. "Or kids who have a creepy skin rash."

Nancy studied her. "Amy, if you could get a medical certificate and take swimming, would you be careful?"

She knew what her mother was talking about, and it had nothing to do with drowning. Resolutely Amy pushed fantasies of exquisite swan dives out of her mind. "I won't show off," she assured her mother. "I promise I'll be the worst swimmer in the seventh grade, okay?"

Nancy laughed. "Can't you just aim for average?"

"But how can you get me a medical certificate without taking me to a doctor?" Amy wanted to know.

Her mother's face grew pensive. She went to the little table by her bed, opened a drawer, and took out a small notebook. After consulting it, she picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"David? This is Nancy, Nancy Candler. Yes, it has been a long time. I need to get in touch with Dr. J." Her eyes widened. "That's a Los Angeles area code! He's living here? I see." She jotted down some numbers. "Thank you, David." She glanced at Amy. "Yes, she's fine."

After a few more words, Nancy hung up the phone. Then she sat down next to Amy on the bed.

"Who was that?" Amy asked.

"My contact," her mother said simply.

"Contact for what?" Amy persisted.

Nancy's eyes took on that hazy look that meant she was calling up memories she didn't really want. "The scientists who worked on Project Crescent . . . After the explosion, we decided it would be safer for all of us if we didn't remain in direct touch with each other. Only one member of the team knows where everyone is."

"And Dr. J Ч is that Dr. Jaleski?" Amy asked. "Your boss when you were working on Project Crescent?" How strange that sounded, speaking of her own birth as a project.