“What about the academies?”
The man’s face darkened. “Someday, when this is all over, people are going to look back at those in shame. It will be like the internment camps in the Second World War.”
“I agree,” Cooper said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m an abnorm, too.”
“I assumed. Most of Shannon’s friends are.”
“And my daughter…” He hesitated. Didn’t want to say it even now, even here. Why? Are you ashamed of Kate?
That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. It was fear, that was all. Fear of what would happen to her.
Right. But all that negative emotion, all that desire to have her hide her ability, isn’t there some part of you that wishes she were normal? If only so she wouldn’t face this risk?
It was an ugly thought. Cooper tilted his beer up again and found it empty. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will make them take the test?”
“That’s where being Chinatown Chinese has advantages. The government doesn’t know about these children.”
“How?”
“Some of us went abroad to have our babies. Others use local midwives who don’t record the births. It’s a risk, because they don’t have the resources of a hospital if things go wrong. A stupid, terrible way to do things. But right now it’s worth it.”
The DAR had long suspected that there was a significant population of unreported abnorms in immigrant communities. It was a loophole the agency meant to close, but like a squeaky staircase in a house on fire, other issues took precedence. These communities rarely made trouble and so had been left alone. But watching the children play—they’d moved to a new game, where a little girl spun once, then closed her eyes and answered detailed questions about everything in the room, down to the number of buttons on Alice’s dress—Cooper saw a whole generation of abnorms growing up right under the noses of the DAR, unreported, untested, untracked. The implications were enormous.
Want to call Director Peters, let him know?
“A lot to take in, huh?” Lee smiled. “I’m so used to it that I forget the rest of the world isn’t. Don’t you love watching them play together? Children who aren’t taught, from the earliest age, that they’re monsters. That they’re abnormal. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cooper said. “Yes it is.”
Later, after the party had ended, after parents had collected their children and said their good-byes and left with Tupperware containers of leftovers, Lisa led him and Shannon to a small room off the hallway decorated in pastel shades and posters of Disney princesses. A lamp shaped like an elephant glowed on a night table beside a single bed.
“Alice’s,” Lisa said, apologetically. “She can sleep with us tonight. I’m sorry there’s not separate rooms.”
Cooper looked over at Shannon, but whatever she might have felt about the arrangement she didn’t telegraph beyond brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “No problem,” he said.
“I’ll get some blankets.”
She returned with a sleeping bag, set it on the bed with a spare pillow, then said, “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you.” Cooper paused, said, “It means a lot to me that you let us into your home.”
“A friend of Shannon’s is a friend of ours. Come anytime.” Lisa looked around the room, hugged Shannon goodnight, and came to Cooper. He waited for her to calculate whether he was a hug or a handshake, but she didn’t hesitate, just gave him a quick hug. Then she stepped out of the room and closed the door.
Shannon tucked her hands in her pockets. The movement tightened the shirt across clavicles delicate as bird wings. “So.”
“I’ll take the floor.”
“Thanks.”