Designed : A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

After throwing my dirty school clothes in the mag-lev sanitizer, I went to my room, but I didn’t immediately start reviewing my test materials.

Instead, I pulled the e-albums from a rack on the wall and carried them to my bed.

There was one for each year of school as well as several that contained earlier photos of me as a toddler. A baby book held the earliest images of me, dark curls from my first haircut, my tiny, partially smudged footprints.

Sometimes it surprised me that my reserved, distant parents had gone to such great lengths to document my life. These albums were among my most treasured possessions.

They made me feel… seen. They made me happy.

I’d looked through them all many times before, but maybe I’d never really looked. I sat cross-legged and opened the most recent album.

Pictures from the past year glowed in my lap—me with my friends from school, Mom and Dad and me in front of our Christmas tree, me and Ketta in colorful knit hats, our heads tilted together as we laughed and made snow angels after a rare snowfall.

Your eyes.

As he’d said the words, the young delivery guy’s own striking eyes had stared into mine like he was trying to see through them somehow.

I held the device closer and studied the photos, zooming the screen in to focus on my eyes. They were brown, of course. And not some special shade of brown either. They were just my eyes.

Nothing remarkable. Nothing special. Nothing but what they’d always been.

I picked up the other albums, quickly thumbing through each of them, reviewing year by year, looking for… something. I wasn’t sure what.

I traveled back in time all the way to my baby album. This one wasn’t completely electronic.

There were a few digital pictures, mixed in with my mother’s handwritten recordings of my first words, my favorite flavors of baby food, cards of congratulations my parents had received upon my arrival.

I scanned those photos as well. A miniaturized version of my own face stared back at me, gummy grins and wide brown eyes and wispy fine locks of curling dark hair surrounding fat baby cheeks.

I smiled at how young mom and dad both looked—her especially. The young woman holding me in her arms had none of the worry lines and undereye circles the present-day version of my mom wore.

Of course, she’d had less to worry about back then.

In those days, there’d been nothing but potential and optimism, belief that her little girl was as normal as anyone else’s child.

And none of the grief over losing a second baby, my younger sister Sera, who’d been only a week old when the Zika-Two virus had swept through our state.

Dad said Mom had never been quite the same after that.

Feeling the pressure to start studying, I slid from the bed and carried the albums back to the shelf. As I shoved them into place, something fell to the floor.

It was a piece of paper—a card, actually. My parents told me it had been attached to my bassinet at the base hospital—sort of a short-form birth certificate and memento meant for framing or saving some other way.

Across the top in pink lettering were the words “It’s a Girl,” followed by a row of exclamation points.

Beneath that, my name and time and date of birth were written as well as those baby stats no one cared about except for new parents.

I’d seen it before, affixed to the inside cover of my baby book. The aging adhesive must have finally worn out.

I retrieved the album from the shelf and opened it, intending to re-insert the card on the first page. But as I started to slide it into place, I noticed a word standing out like a glowing hologram.

Not my name: Mireya Elizabeth Collantes. Not my birth weight: six pounds nine ounces. Not the length: eighteen inches. All of that was unremarkable.

It was the writing below that caught my attention.

On the hospital card that had resided in the baby book sitting on my bedroom shelf as long as I could remember, on the line beside the printed words “eye color,” was clearly written the word, “green.”

A sudden tremor in my fingers caused the card to flutter back to the floor.

What did it mean?

Maybe it had been a mistake, and my sleep-deprived new-baby-high parents had been unwilling to throw away even a flawed memento of the occasion?

I might have dismissed it that easily if not for the reaction of the delivery guy today.

Your eyes. They’re brown.

That’s when I went blank.

I woke up in my bed, surrounded by study materials for Calc and my tablet open and ready to stream tonight’s BioHist chapter.

Shoving them aside, I ran to the shelf and grabbed the baby book. I whipped the cover open.

My eyes scanned the card, which was firmly glued to the inside cover.

Date, Time, Name, Weight, Length. All of the information read the same. Except for the eye color… which now read, “Brown.”

I dropped the book and backed away from it.

What is happening?

I knew I hadn’t imagined it. But then how had I gotten to my bed in the first place? How had the baby album moved from the floor to its usual spot on the wall rack?

Oh my God. I am losing it.

I grabbed my holoconnect from my backpack and swiped the symbol for Ketta. Her image projected above the device.

Clearly, I’d caught her in the middle of studying because her black hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she was even happier than usual to see me.

“Hey. Just in time. My brain is going to melt if I don’t take a break from this Lit essay.” Her smile dropped. “What’s the matter? You look weird.”

“I am.”

“What?”

“I am weird. I’m not normal, Ketta. Something is wrong with me.”

She rolled her eyes so dramatically it was even obvious in the holo.

“Here we go again. No one is normal, Reya. Normal is an illusion. You’ve got to stop comparing yourself to other people because you know what? Everybody’s got something they’re dealing with—even the people you think are perfect and have got it all together. They may not talk about it or wear a tee shirt advertising their problems, but everyone’s got something they’re not proud of.”

She flopped over and grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest.

“This is why we need to get off this base. We could walk to the commuter rail station, take the train into the city. My mom does it all the time when she goes shopping. I’m telling you, getting out in the world would do you a lot of good, give you some perspective.”

“Yes, and also get me grounded for my entire junior year. No thanks.”

She grinned. “Listen, I’ve known you all your life. You’re fine. You don’t need to change. You need to just be comfortable being you.”

“Really? Even if I see things that aren’t there?” I told her about the magical word-changing hospital document.

“Okay, well that is strange,” she conceded. “Did you ask your mom about it?”

“No,” I hissed, belatedly remembering to whisper in case Mom was passing by outside my bedroom door. “I can’t.”

“Oh. Did you have an episode?”

I let out a long breath. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s all it was then. You were, like, daydreaming or whatever while you were out. No big deal.”

She was probably right. I wasn’t sure which would be worse—my eye color changing mysteriously or simply imagining the old hospital document had changed during some sort of blackout state.

“I just wish I was like everyone else.”

“No, you don’t. Everyone else is boring. You are fabulous. Anyway, my mom always says trying to fit in is a good way to waste your life. And it never works. Might as well go ahead and appreciate your differences and stand out. As people used to say when she was young, ‘Let your freak flag fly.’”

“Yeah, I guess. Hey—have you ever met anyone named Heath on base before? The older brother of one of our friends maybe?”

Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Where did you meet him? Oh my god—you weren’t talking to one of the soldiers, were you?”

“No, of course not. I met him on the way home from school. He was driving a delivery van, and he almost hit me, and—”

“He’s from off-base?”

“Yes, but he looked familiar, and he acted like I looked familiar. He said something about my eyes.”

“Maybe he was hitting on you. That’s a classic pickup line, complimenting a girl’s eyes… from what I’ve read and seen on the vids.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t even a compliment. He seemed shocked. He said, ‘They’re brown,’ like something was wrong with that.”

“Maybe he just expected something different.” She shrugged and then waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe he was dazzled by your gorgeous brown peepers.”

“No, I think he’s seen me before. It’s too coincidental with the hospital document thing.”

“Reya, even if the thing with the bassinet card was real, lots of babies were born with one color eyes and they change later. Usually it’s blue, but it’s not unusual for eye color to change as you age.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Something inside me deflated, though I wasn’t sure why. Did I want there to be some kind of connection between me and the delivery guy?

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told Ketta. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”

We both laughed and disconnected. Feeling a bit better, I headed for the stairs. The smell of roasting fish and vegetables lured me, and I heard both my parents’ voices in the kitchen when I reached the first floor. Dad really had made it home early.

“… told us about the recall sooner,” he was saying as I entered the room.

“What recall?”

Mom nearly jumped out of her skin. Man, her anxiety was out of control today. Maybe she needed to go see the doctor.

“Mireya.” She let out a breath. “Dinner’s about ready if you’d please set the table.”

“Sure, okay. Hi Dad.”

He rose from a stool at the kitchen island as I passed and gave me a quick pat on the shoulder.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.” I pulled three plates from the cabinet and carried them to the table. I made an effort to keep my voice light. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“She fell,” Mom said.

“What? Fell where?”

“I tripped. It was not a big deal. How was your day? You finished early?”

Dad relaxed back against the counter, re-folding his arms over his generous belly.

“Yeah. Or actually, I left early. I wanted to see my two favorite girls tonight. I thought we could watch some comedy vids together after supper. Or maybe play a game if you want?”

I flinched, thinking of the BioHist quiz I needed to prepare for. But it was so rare for Dad to be home early in the evening. I could make a little time for some family vid watching. There would still be time to study afterward.

“Sounds great.” I went to get silverware from the drawer. “What recall were you talking about?”

He blinked a couple of times. “Oh, nothing—some new tech for the kitchen. It screwed up today and almost caused a fire. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of those young ears—they never miss a thing.”

“You could get some auditory implants and hear everything that’s said on the whole base,” I teased.

He laughed. “Not sure I want to. And not going to happen on a military salary. Gideon Corp doesn’t just hand out tech like that. Unfortunately, my hearing loss isn’t covered by our plan. It’s not from battle but from playing in a band. Your old dad used to be cool, you know.”

“Yeah right.” I snickered.

“When did our daughter develop such a smart mouth?” Mom asked, relaxing and getting into the spirit of the playful exchange.

“I remember someone else who was pretty sassy at seventeen years old.” Dad stepped behind Mom and wrapped his arms around her waist. She giggled as he peppered her cheek with kisses.

He’d always known how to set her at ease. Too bad he wasn’t around more.

Turning her to face him, he said, “Our daughter is acting completely normal for her age.”

They held eye contact for long moments as unspoken words were exchanged. No doubt more ooshy-gooshy flirting.

Normal for my age, he’d said. Normal. If only.

We ate at the dining room table we rarely used—Mom and I usually sat at the kitchen island for meals—and chatted about nothing in particular. I didn’t mention the memory lapse.

Dad didn’t usually overreact like Mom did, but still, I didn’t want to ruin the evening. She’d definitely freak out, and he’d have to calm her.

Maybe all mothers were like that. Or maybe it was only those who’d lost children in the Calamity. They were hyper-aware of the bad things that could happen in life.

“You sure you didn’t hurt yourself today when you tripped?” Dad asked.

“Totally fine. I do have a bruise on my hip, and a scrape on my elbow, but no permanent damage.”

“Well, Dr. Rex can take a look at it tomorrow just in case,” my mother said.

“Mom—I don’t need to go to the doctor.”

“No, this was already scheduled. Didn’t I mention you had a pediatrician appointment tomorrow?”

In spite of the hot food, my belly went suddenly cold. “No.”

My last appointment had been only a month ago, and I seriously doubted this was a regularly scheduled checkup. It had to have something to do with my “fall” today.

Her laugh was a nervous-sounding titter. “Oh, I thought I had. It’s on the calendar.”

She gestured toward the faint glow of the digital calendar on the front of the fridge and went back to eating, staring at her plate instead of looking at me.

I glanced from her to Dad. He concentrated on his food as well. Either they were both really into the broccoli or they were avoiding eye contact.

I wasn’t sure what was up with them tonight, but it was kinda starting to freak me out.