Myrae's mother always told her that if she hadn't been genetically modified, she would have amounted to nothing more than portable plumbing. So of course, her parents spent years of research and performed a risky operation so that Myrae, to quote Christopher Morley, could at least be "ingenious...portable plumbing." And that's all Myrae would ever amount to—her parent's science experiment that actually went according to plan.

Well, almost.

"Myrae? Myrae!"

Myrae's attention snapped back to the present. Her classmates giggled as her teacher gave her a death-stare.

"Yes, ma'am?" Myrae whispered.

"Myrae, do we need to have another meeting with your parents about your lack of focus?" her teacher asked sternly. Mrs. Hemins wasn't one to get angry, especially at children, but she still maintained strict rules in her classroom. It was the only way to instill discipline into her students.

"No, ma'am," Myrae answered, slowly shrinking into her seat.

The teacher took in a big breath. "Alright. Now, the question was what is one invention that Leonardo da Vinci discovered?" Myrae gulped as she peered up at Mrs. Hemins standing right in front of her desk.

She felt her mind go blank, as all the class's attention became solely focused on her.

"I'm sorry," Myrae said quietly. "I don't know."

"The question comes from the homework I assigned two days ago. Didn't you complete it?"

Myrae's eyebrows knit together; she didn't remember being assigned homework. "Um...we had homework?"

The class snickered.

"The homework that was the worksheet that I gave the class last week. You were supposed to read your textbooks then fill out the questions. Myrae, I thought we resolved your issues of not completing your work."

"But...I never got a worksheet!" the girl protested. The teacher lifted a worksheet Myrae didn't remember seeing before from a student's desk.

"I know that every student got one. In fact, I saw you write it down in your planner that I gave you. Did you not look in your planner?"

Now Myrae was even more confused. "I don't have a planner."

The teacher sighed exasperated. "Please see me after class. Diane, perhaps you can answer the question for me."

***

"I just don't understand, Myrae," Mrs. Hemins said. "You're going to be in middle school next year. We need to work on your focus and attention so you can do well later on. I'm disappointed that you haven't been taking this more seriously."

Myrae stared at the floor, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. But I don't remember! she wanted to scream.

"Let's see if we can find your planner."

Myrae pulled out all her notebooks and binders from her backpack. At the very bottom, she found two things she'd never seen before: a small notebook and a crumpled up paper. The teacher sighed at the sight.

"Here's your homework," she said, smoothing the sheet of paper. "Here's your planner." She opened Myrae's planner and showed the place that she had written: read pages 102-105 and complete the worksheet.

"I don't know what to say, Myrae," the teacher said. "This can not continue."

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry."

A soft smile appeared on Mrs. Hemins' face. "It will be alright, Myrae. We'll keep working on this. You may go now. I don't want you to miss the bus."

Myrae walked out of the classroom. Why couldn't I remember? She racked her brain, searching for even a vague memory. There was none to be found. Frustrated, all she wanted to do was go home. She pulled out her phone and checked her bus number. Myrae could never remember which bus she was supposed to go on. She read each number carefully until she found the right one.

"Hey, Myrae! I saved you a seat."

Myrae turned around to see a girl in a pink dress beaming at her. The unfamiliar girl patted the seat next to her. "It's your turn to have the window seat."

It is my turn for the window seat? I mean, I do love the window seat, but how could she know that? For two seconds, Myrae contemplated not sitting. But, then again, she would rather take her chances sitting next to someone who was friendly, rather than someone who was mean—like the kids in her class. "Thanks," Myrae mumbled, sitting down.

"Where have you been?" she chirped. "I haven't seen you all week!"

Confusion and curiosity sparked in Myrae. "I-I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

The girl whipped her head around to stare intensely at Myrae. Myrae shifted in her seat, finally staring at the floor under the girl's scrutinizing stare.

"Of course we've met!" The girl exclaimed incredulously. "We've been besties since second grade. Are you feeling OK?"

She felt Myrae's forehead, channeling every adult she'd ever seen no doubt.

"I'm fine," Myrae mumbled. "I just...didn't know. That's all."

"You didn't know I was your friend? Myrae, you've forgotten some weird things in the past. But forgetting me..." She looked for any sign of recognition in Myrae's face. Finally, looking crestfallen, she slowly turned to her phone. Myrae bit her lip, hugging her backpack.

The two girls rode in silence. Myrae's fingers tapped rapidly on her backpack. She didn't know what to say. The girl seemed vaguely familiar, a distant memory, but none that Myrae could place. Why can't I remember? What is wrong with me? I want to remember! I want to have friends!

Myrae stood when the bus came to a halt at her stop. The girl glanced up, as Myrae climbed over her to leave.

"I hope you remember me," she said. Her eyes glistened in the afternoon sun.

"I'll try," Myrae promised.

What is wrong with me? she wondered as she climbed off the bus. After checking the directions to her house, she headed off.

Myrae would try to remember who the girl was. If they really were friends, Myrae hoped that she'd remember. She wanted to, but Myrae also knew that no matter how hard she tried, it would be of no use. It had happened enough times for her to know that whatever was lost wasn't coming back.

***

"What do you mean you're nervous?" Myrae heard her dad say.

"Look, I'm just saying that we need to double check one more time," her mom countered. "My gut is telling me—"

"I already agreed that we can double check, Honey. But to be frank, I've had enough of your gut. We can't allow ourselves to be apprehensive, and let the nerves get the better of us. If we're nervous, we're more likely to slip up. We have enough..." Myrae's dad trailed off when he saw her standing in the doorway.

"Oh. Hello, Myrae," Myrae's mother said. Her eyes immediately dropped to the letter Myrae clutched in her hands.

"I'll take that, Myrae." Myrae handed Mrs. Hemins' note to her Dad. As he scanned the note, his eyebrow rose higher and higher. Myrae watched, gripping her hand in a fist so tightly, her fingernails dug into her skin.

"These teachers," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He balled up the paper and tossed it into a waste basket. Her mom came out of the kitchen and set down a plate of kale chips. "Does Myrae have to be in school?"

Myrae felt her stomach grumbling. The meager lunch of two cheese sticks and an apple weren't enough to satiate her hunger. Before she knew it, she was reaching for a chip.

"Oh, these are for me, Myrae," her mother quickly interrupted, whisking the plate out of reach. Myrae's gaze dropped to the ground.

"Can I have something to eat?" she asked.

"Later on," her mother said. "Right now, we need you to come downstairs and drink the tea. We need to do a little more research on your brain today."

"But I've taken it every day this week," Myrae protested.

"Well, you need to take it again today. Now head on down to the lab," Myrae's dad said. Myrae followed her parents dutifully to the basement, also known as "the lab." Her parents had managed to "design" her genetics all on their own, with a little trial and error—whatever that meant. Myrae had to visit the lab frequently for check-ups on the genetic changes in her body. Unfortunately, check-ups included drinking the most awful tasting herbal tea ever known to humanity. Myrae shuddered at the thought of it.

Myrae followed her mom to the kitchen. From the drawer nearest to the living room, Mrs. Clemans pulled out a key. She then walked to the opposite end of the kitchen, past the kitchen table, and to a cubist painting hanging on the wall. Mrs. Clemans removed the painting from the wall, revealing a door. The keys were quickly inserted into the lock and turned.

A whiff of musty air hit Myrae as her parents opened the door to the basement. Every time that Myrae went down, it felt so stifling and muggy that she wished never to return. But of course, she had to.

On the right side of the room, there was a stove, a sink, and several, gray stone cabinets. Against the wall in front of Myrae was a filing cabinet. A few times, her parents had gone into the filing cabinet to pull out a reel of film. On the left side of the room, stood her dad's desk and a spacious medical table. Myrae always wondered why she had to sit in front of the camera and drink the sedative tea instead of lying down on the exam table, since her parents were observing her DNA. A few times she had asked, but her parents always shushed her.

In the center of the room, there was a wooden chair facing a camera elevated on a tripod. Myrae sat down in the seat like she always did, gazing at the familiar lens that was in front of her, while her Mom prepared the tea.

"When are you going to show me a movie?" Myrae asked. She had once asked her parents what the camera was, and her parents had told her that it was a film camera. Ever since then, Myrae had longed to see a real movie. She had learned about those in school—how people in the old days used to relax by watching stories play out on a screen.

"Perhaps some day," her mother replied distractedly.

The bitter smell of expired herbs wafted from the stove, causing Myrae's nose to wrinkle in distaste.

"C-couldn't you do it without the tea?" she asked feebly. Please, let there be another option. But she knew it would be in vain. The answer to her question was always the same.

"No," her Dad said as he entered the room. He headed straight for his desk in the leftmost corner of the room.

Myrae sighed.

At last her mom brought the steaming mug of tea to her. Myrae closed her eyes. It looked and smelled almost as bad as it tasted. Preparing for the worst, she gulped down the tea. The piping hot liquid normally burned her mouth and throat, but she'd been taking the tea all week, so she was numb to the heat.

Myrae gagged. Her stomach churned. Nausea set in.

But after a minute, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She felt her body relax, despite the nausea. Myrae's eyes shut, and she drifted into a deep sleep.