It had not been Denzin's best day. No, it definitely had not. In fact, it ranked up there with some of his most momentous. And he'd had some disastrous ones.

  Bits of tangled hair pulled free from his untidy plait as the wind caught it. He raked his fingers through the thatch, catching a tangle. Yanking his fingers free, he swore.

  "Skib!"

  That brought his rant to an abrupt halt. It was his sister with the foul mouth. The only thing about her that wasn't perfect.

  Denzin shook his head, his feet in unconscious motion as he replayed the scene again and again in his head.

  "Idiot. Stupid, yassing idiot. Did it again. Every single yassing time."

  When he thought about it, he knew exactly what had gone wrong. Not that Denzin and thinking were two concepts that were often found in the same sentence.

  One day, maybe he would actually find a way to keep his gob shut and his head down.

  Denzin's boot kicked a stone out of his path with a growl. The stone flew further – far further – than it should have. Making the window of the Under Reading Room across the street shudder when it hit. Several heads glanced up. Including his sister's.

  She snarled.

  He turned the corner quickly.

  Stalking past the Fest-Caff, the faded decorations caught his eye. The new ones were already going up on the street outside. City-Fest was just three yassing weeks away! How were his family going to afford to celebrate now he'd lost his job? They were relying on his pay, so that for the first time ever, they could afford to actually celebrate.

  There was no choice but to celebrate. Or at least, pretend to. Mam and Dad took great risks in order for their family to do it. What else could they do? Everyone in the City was required to take part in City-Fest. Without exception. But it cost, because you needed to bake your special Fest cakes, to remember that ‘The City Survives’. And wear your Fest clothes, new and extravagant, to remember that ‘The City Thrives’. If you couldn't prove that, the whole farce would just crumble around you. The Pandraken and the Council couldn't let that happen. What would come of that?

  Yes, Denzin had often gotten in trouble for saying such things. And for asking questions when he shouldn't. And for even just being Denzin, it seemed!

  To avoid walking past the Reading Room again – and his sister – Denzin did laps around the block. As he approached the Fest-Caff again, a small, wiry gram opened the door and went in. Out from the Caff came the aroma of hot soup and hot bodies. In spite of his stomach grumbling, Denzin strode past. He couldn’t bear the thought of spending cash in a Caff when he’d just lost his job again.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets against the beating rain that came up suddenly. It was a time of suddenlies, this season of Sunner. The only thing you could predict in Sunner was that suddenly the weather would change. Probably several times each day.

  He passed the Fest-Caff again, attention lost in his usual rants as the rain soaked him as thoroughly as if he’d been thrown into the Water.

  Until a voice called out behind him.

  “Hey, you! It’s awful wet out there! Do you want to come inside?”

  Denzin stopped dead, his foot nearly ankle deep in a puddle. He was drenched, and he knew it. He really shouldn’t. He’d be in the way. Make a mess, like he did of everything. He would probably carry in the Sick with him and land every Gram in there in lockdown for the next two weeks!

  “C’mon, the soup looks good today. You look like you could use some.”

  He was hungry. And walking in a suddenly wasn’t the cleverest thing to do. Despite knowing it was a really, really bad idea, he followed the voice into the Caff.

  The warm soup felt good going down his throat. The taste – why didn’t anything ever taste different? Could anything ever taste different? Oh, yeah. There were those questions again – the ones he wasn’t allowed to ask. At least this time, the words stayed inside his head.

  “What was that?” the server asked.

  Skib! They hadn’t stayed inside his head after all.

  “Oh, nothing. This is great,” he stuttered. “Thanks so much.”

  She laid the mop against the wall and sat down on the chair opposite him. The hum of conversation competed against the hail that now battered the glass.

  “So, what brings you out into the wet and rain for so many laps past our window?”

  She was as good at questions as he was, apparently.

  “Long story,” Denz replied.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I’ve got until the first customers leave. That won’t be until the weather changes again. If it would help, I can listen. I’m Chimma, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chimma. I’m Denzin. I don’t suppose you know any good jobs going anywhere, do you? Mine seems to have...” he glanced out into the storm, nodding towards the road, “um, washed away like that leaf over there.” An oak leaf was floating rapidly towards the storm drain. “I just can’t keep my yassing mouth shut! I …. but you don’t really want to hear me going on. I’ll just get you in trouble, too.”

  “Like I said, no one’ll be coming in until the rain stops again – unless there are more of you doing laps today. So it’s either listen to you, or crack my tablet open, and I’m not in the mood for revising, to be honest. Maybe it’ll help if you tell me.”

  Before he knew it, out the story tumbled. Tim jeering at his handling of the knife, his boss writing him up twice because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut during training, then his complaints that morning, and ending up in the drenching rain.

  “I just can’t go home yet,” he mumbled at last. “I can’t be there when my mam gets home. What’ll she think of me? Well, probably the same thing she always thinks of me. I’m a walking disaster. Always have been. Mistake, that’s what I am.”

  “I can tell you right now, Mr. Denzin, that you are not a mistake! Your parents designed you!”

  “No they didn’t, actually.” Why did he say that?!? He finally found a way to stop his mouth from spouting out what was on his head. He couldn’t admit to a total stranger that he was an accident, the buy-one-get-one-free who ruined his family’s plans.

  “What do you mean, of course they did. That’s how it works. Our parents go to City Infant, they are given choices on various things – I mean, sure, Unders like us don’t get as much choice as the Overs do. But still, they chose you.”

  Well, she’s been nice so far, let’s see what happens. His mouth opened again, for better or for worse....

  “Except they chose my sister, not me. I’m the mistake. She’s the perfect one, the planned one, who fulfils their dreams. She’s smart enough to take the Zam and pass it – she’ll be sitting it this year. The teachers expect her to do more than pass, if you can believe it. I’m the surprise, the one who didn’t get designed, that ended up in there at the same ...”

  He clapped his hand over his mouth. He’d gone too far. It was one thing to admit he was the second twin, another completely to admit he was natural!!!!

  Natural babies were imperfect. They weren’t designed to be anything, just … natural – and look at what a disaster nature was! Maybe that was it – he bounced between soaking people and blowing them here and there like Sunner, then freeze drying them like Winner. Too much or too little, all or nothing. He was weather!

  The shock on her face said it all. Before she could report the family, he’d better run. He hadn’t told her his last name, had he? He didn’t think so! Good, hopefully she wouldn’t find them.

  He leapt to his feet, ready to flee, but her hand clung to his soggy sleeve.

  “Are you serious?” she murmured, her eyes quickly scanning the room. “You’re a natural conception? Amazing! I didn’t know that was possible! Well, I knew it was possible, sort of, but really! Wow! I’ve never met a Natural before!”

  She didn’t look scared. Or shocked. Her eyes had a light that reminded him of someone – a bit like Gram without the wrinkles. She wanted to know!

  He stared right into her eyes. Then he let go of the breath he’d stored up for his flight. She wasn’t going to turn him in.

  Denz sat back down.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” he whispered. “We haven’t told anyone. City Infant just thought they gave mam two good eggs instead of one. But they didn’t mess up. I don’t fit any of the criteria for their designs. Mam still has the paper at home, in my sister’s life book. All the boxes that were marked to design her are exactly what she is. ‘Me’ isn’t anywhere on that list. I mean, my hands are shaped just like my mam’s, and my face looks like Dad’s, except my nose is Mam’s. I’m a patchwork, a bunch of leftover parts no one wanted. I wasn’t even born with a birthmark – I have to draw it on my head with a permanent pen every morning so my family don’t get in trouble! And I’ve been messing stuff up ever since.”

  He hoped she mistook his tears for the drops still falling occasionally from his hair.

  Chimma’s face lit. “No! You’re a wonder, Denzin! A miracle! I wonder why you’re here.... there must be some reason. Senda doesn’t do things like that by mistake....”

  It was her turn to look shocked. He could almost feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as her eyes scanned the room once more.

  “Dad thought I was Senda’s extra gift, but Mam would never let him say that outside home.”

  At his mention of Senda, Chimma relaxed a bit. So she had a bit of the verbals, too.

  “You....” she began, then stopped, a flicker of fear crossing her brow.

  “Go ahead, I told you my secret.”

  She leaned forward towards him across the table, glanced quickly around the room as if making sure they weren’t being overheard, and whispered, “You believe in Senda, too?”

  Her eyes bored into him. Not with the same look he got from everyone else. No, this look was different. Hopeful. Had anyone ever looked at him that way before?

  “I ... I don’t know. My Gram did. And my Dad sort of does, but he always seems to say the Name like he hopes it’s true. Gram said it like she knew it was true. Me, I suppose it doesn’t matter, because every time I’ve tried to ask, I’ve ended up in detention or sent home – I even lost the job before this one for mentioning the Name. So I try not to think about it. What I think about comes out my mouth, and then I’m in trouble again. So I’m much better off not thinking, really.”

  How is it he could be so open with Chimma! He had never said that much about himself to anyone. Not the real stuff. The stuff inside.

  “No one in my family believes,” Chimma replied. “Just me. It’s so good to meet someone else who does. Don’t worry. I won’t tell, if you don’t tell.”

  Just then, the rain stopped. Suddenly. As it usually did. Pounding to nothing in two seconds.

  “We just have until someone leaves or someone comes,” she said, checking the room again. “If you’re not working, please come again tomorrow. Please.”

  Her eyes showed that she meant it. She actually wanted him to come back!

  “I guess I may as well. Until I find another job, I’ve got nothing else to do but revise for the Zam,” he admitted. “Though my chance of passing is less than the chance of getting a rain storm in January. Kayda, she’ll sail through it – probably land a job Over the Hill. Me, I’ll end up sweeping streets or something.”

  “Oh, I can tell there’s more to you than that, my friend.”

  A couple of the wrinklies got up, still chatting, and headed towards the door.

  “Gotta go clear their table. Get told off if I let it sit more than a minute. Come again – promise you will?”

  “I’ll try. Look for me when it rains, I guess. No where else to go, anyway.” Denz shrugged his shoulders.

  His soup had gone cold while they were talking. So had he. His clothes were still very wet. At least the sun should warm him up. Denzin gulped down whatever had settled in the bottom of his bowl without looking – it was safer that way – and took himself outside to dry, hopefully in time to avoid the obvious questions when he got home.

  Then again, maybe he should just keep walking.