The Stand-In

"Hey honey?" My mom calls up to me from the bottom of the steps, "Dad and I would like to talk to you!"

Oh no.

What did I do this time? Anxiety courses through me. What did I do?

"Okay okay, let's think this through before we make any assumptions, right? They could just be congratulating me on my grades, or something." Even as I said it I knew I was lying to myself. But Mom didn't sound mad. If anything, she sounded nervous, much like I sound like right now. What could they be wanting to talk about?

"I'm coming Mom, just wait a second!" I scream down the stairwell right back at her. I try to sound nonchalant, but my voice quivered at the word mom.

What did I do?

My hands shake, my palms sweat. I look through my phone, fingers flying, trying to find anything that would get me in trouble. Nothing. I set the phone down on my bed, the purple case clashing with my pink bedspread. I go through all of my drawers, looking for some sort of hidden contraband, although I knew I had none. I'm only in eighth grade, it's not like I have pot stashed in my room.

What did I do?

I pace across the room, back and forth, my feet wearing a path into the carpet.

"What to do, what to do?" I whisper to myself. And then I hear my mother's voice call up the stairs.

"Honey, are you coming?"

"Um-yeah Mom just a sec," I say, my voice shaking still.

"I'd better get down there before they get mad at me, at least, get more mad at me." I take a deep breath, then slowly inch down the stairs, one step at a time.

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," I tell my parents when I arrive in the living room. They are both sitting on the leather couch, very close to each other, like those parents on the covers of those "How to Raise Your Kid" books.

"Hey kid," my Dad says, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles. "Take a seat." He is definitely trying to make me feel at ease. This is really weird.

"Okay, Kayla, we need to talk to you," my mother tells me, her 'perfect parent' smile plastered on her face. She was trying to remain calm, for what reason I wasn't sure, but what I was sure about were the small beads of sweat on her forehead. One thing was for sure, her pleasant facade was cracking.

"We've been meaning to tell you this for a while now, we just never got the courage to actually say it," my father told me, looking down at his shoes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't in trouble after all! But then the meaning of his words caught on.

My parents have been keeping a big secret from me.

Me.

Their own daughter, made of the same flesh and blood.

"You remember your birth video, right?" My mother asked. They seemed to be switching off, one talking at a time. This conversation had probably been rehearsed.

"Yeah. You always told me that I don't even look the same."

The two exchanged a glance. Something was wrong.

"Well, you see, Kayla," my father stammered, " This isn't your real birth video."

I laughed. "Really, you thought I would believe that? Great prank guys! You really had me scared for a moment." I got up and started to walk back to my room.

"Kayla sit back down!" My mother said sternly. I stopped, shocked at the harsh tone. My mother was usually gentle, never raising her voice above normal talking level. This was serious.

"What we were about to say was that you don't have a birth video at all. This is your sister's." Huh? What does this all have to do with me? I looked up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the situation, but I was completely baffled.

"But I never had a sister. Ever. You said I was the 'one and done' child." They exchanged another glance.

"Kayla, honey, can you promise me something?"

"Yeah sure."

"Promise me you won't freak out or get mad."

"Why would I get mad?"

"Just promise."

"Okay fine, whatever."

"Promise me, Kayla."

"I promise. Jeez what's the problem?"

This was officially getting weirder by the second.

"Kayla, you were never born at all."

"What? Seriously guys is this a joke? I'm here right? How can I not have been born?" I started to get up again.

"Kayla, you were grown in a test tube." That stopped me in my tracks. I tried to laugh it off.

"Did you guys have trouble making a baby or something, cause that's not so bad." I still could tell they were hiding something.

"Remember how we said that was your sister's video?

"Um, yeah?"

"Well your sister died in a car wreck."

My mouth opened so wide that my jaw almost went out of its socket. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I felt was numbness.

"Wha-what?"

"That's where I got my scar from," my dad told me, pointing to the jagged scar across his forehead.

Suddenly I was angry. I had a sister, who DIED, and they never told me a thing, just letting me go on with my life full of rainbows and unicorns. I'm in 8th grade, I think I am old enough to process that I had a sister who died.

"Why didn't you tell me this! In old enough to know! No wonder I get all of those looks from your friends, they all knew too!"

I stood up quickly and pointed to them. "You lied to me!"

They sat there calmly, taking my accusations without a single word.

"We knew you would react like this, but there is still something else you need to know, something that you wouldn't be able to understand until now." My mother looked at my dad as he said this, nodding after every word. "Kayla, do you know what a clone is?"

Suddenly it all clicked on my head. My sister's death, my parents, sick with grief. I am my sister's clone. I can picture it in my head, them, crying at the scene of the accident, knowing they will never see their child again. Until the latest cloning technology made it possible. No matter how much money they spent, they were going to have a second chance.

"Does that mean-"

"Yes Kayla."

"Was her name Kayla too?"

"Yes. We tried to make you like her as much as possible. We read you the same books, gave you the same toys, the same clothes, same everything. We wanted our daughter back."

"So I was the stand-in," I told them, fuming. I wasn't meant to be made. They don't love me, they love her. I felt a sudden hatred for my namesake.

"No honey, we love you just as much as we loved her, more even, it's just-"

"I don't want to hear it," I snarled, "You know that you just wanted a substitute. I was never meant to be. Every time you look at me, you are comparing us, analyzing every difference between me and her, and wishing you had her instead! Well guess what? I'm not her! I may look like her, but we are not the same!" I ran up to my room, crying, my mom following me up the stairs. I burst into my room and turned around, slamming the door in my mom's face. I was done being her. Tonight, I was going to become me.