Superhero Effects

6. AND THE FAMILY KEPT HER

At lunch, I was the second person to get in the Spotlight. The first was Cooper, already sitting at a computer, working on something with concentration.

"Hey," I started to say when something whirled past me, stirring my hair with a cool breeze. I turned in time to see the door shut quietly and the lock turn.

When I turned back, Cooper was standing with his arms folded over his chest. He no longer looked like a nice-going baseball player that proposed the idea of having featured football players every week but the nut that dropped me out of the sky.

"I know you remember," he said casually, "and I know who you are." I stared at him for five seconds and then turned with the intent of running, but there he was between me and the door. "We don't have long before everyone else gets here, so just listen." I began backing away, and his eyes flickered regretfully as he stepped toward me. "I'm not going to hurt you, Tristan." I blinked, and he nodded. "That's right. I know your name is Tristan, and I know you were telling the truth."

"Because you've been watching me," I accused, finding my voice.

"I just want—to tell you who you are." He finished the sentence carefully, like he was telling a two-year-old girl that her favorite teddy bear was lost.

My throat constricted. "I know who I am."

"Really? Did you know you had an identical twin? That you were put up for adoption, and the family kept her?" He stepped closer to me and pulled a square photograph from his back pocket, and held it up for me to see. The photo was of a couple hugging each other around the waist. The guy was Cooper with shorter hair and the girl...

"Who—" I started.

"Lucy," he answered. "The only difference between you is that you have a scar on your right eyebrow. She doesn't—none of us do. Seventeen years ago, a series of tests were done on an unknown number of pregnant women. These women were injected with a special type of blood, and their children were born special."

I backed away, shaking my head with a lump in my throat. "No, you're wrong. I know what you're saying, but you're wrong."

His eyebrows scrunched together as he pulled the picture back and slid it back into his pocket. "She's your sister, and she's missing, has been for the past six months. I think you can help us find her, though. You're her twin."

"No," I said again, raising my voice. "You're wrong. My birth mom—" I broke off forcefully. "Let me out of here, or I will tell everyone who you are." His eyes narrowed. "Let," I growled, "me out of here. Now."

Cooper stepped aside without another word, and I hurried forward, unlocked the door, and rushed out, barely holding back tears.

***
It was when I was in sixth grade that I started asking questions about my biological mother. My mom did the best she could to give me information, she told me how her big sister, her best friend, would have been so proud of me, but it hadn't been enough to give me peace of mind.

I could tell there was something she was holding back, so I did what any twelve-year-old would do; I turned to my best friend for help, who also happened to be very good a digging into things.

It had taken Peggy a week to find everything out, and when she did, I had to wrestle the information from even her.

Peggy finally broke down and gave me the big vanilla folder she had composed but only after saying, "Tristan, you're my best friend, and Farah is your mom, no matter who gave birth to you, just remember that."

I was confused by Peggy's sad words, but when I went into the privacy of my room, locked the door, and began to read with hungry eyes, I started to see what all the fuss was about.