More of Me

By Kathryn Evans

“A relatable look at growing up, negotiating changes in one’s body and personality, and learning to accept one’s present self and honor one’s past.” ―Publishers Weekly
 
Teva goes to school, studies for her exams, and spends time with her friends. To the rest of the world, she’s a normal teenager. But when she goes home, she’s anything but normal. Due to a genetic abnormality, Teva unwillingly clones herself every year. And lately, home has become a battleground. When boys are at stake, friends are lost, and lives are snatched away, Teva has a fight on her hands—a fight with herself. As her birthday rolls around, Teva is all too aware that time is running out. She knows that the next clone will soon seize everything she holds dear. Desperate to hang on to her life, Teva decides to find out more about her past . . . and uncovers lies that could either destroy her or set her free.
 
 “A nifty premise.” —Kirkus Reviews
 
“A profound, complex examination of how we relate to our own history.” ―Booklist
 
“The writing throughout is excellent . . . Realistic fiction fans will connect to Teva and will be drawn in enough to want to read the conclusion.” ―School Library Journal

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781683350682

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I have grown in strength inside her. Filled her cells with mine until we must split apart. It’s not my choice—that’s how it’s always been for us.

Though we’ve done this many times before, I know she is afraid, because I share her heart. Her memories are mine, hazy sometimes, but mine. I feel what she feels. I have walked where she has walked, been in her every step. I have kissed where she has kissed. Ollie. I sigh, but the breath that comes out is hers. It’s time to breathe for myself. It’s time to live.

She is in that dream place where her body cannot move and her mind is unsure and scattered. I stretch and fill every cell, feel them all expand and swell to make room for me. I search for the weakest point to break out and find it: the little finger of the right hand.

Some deep memory tells me it’s always been this way. The first cell splits with a tiny pop; she hardly notices. I’m controlling our breathing now. We take a deep lungful of steadying air and tense. I press our shoulders into the bed and that’s when she realizes. That’s when she starts to fight.

Our minds are still merged, and her panic leaks into me. For a second I can do nothing, but it’s started now and there’s no stopping it. I refocus on that weak spot. I try to lift my knuckles, to pull them away, but it’s the tip of the little finger that frees itself. I bend back my hand. The fingers come away with a syrupy tear. She is fully awake now. For a moment we fight for control, but she cannot hold me and I shrug my arm free. The raw ripping sparks in every fiber, every sinew—we burn together. I work on the other arm, pushing through the fingertips, feeling every cell split and seal up again, as hers do, releasing me.

Guilt flickers through me. Mine, not hers. I am moments away from being Teva, and she . . . she will be left behind.

She fights. Her arms grab at mine but there is no turning back; there’s no longer room for both of us.

I lift my toes and feel them suck away; they brush the bedclothes as they come free. My new skin is sensitive, not used to being touched—I almost can’t bear it. I wrench my legs up and kick away the covers. Her hands are on our face now.

She can’t stop it.

I have to be free.

I will be free.

1

Six months had flown by. Six months since I’d fought my way out of Fifteen’s body and taken over as Teva. Six months since Fifteen had been trapped at home and I’d been free. It didn’t take a math genius to work out what that meant. I had just six short months until a new Teva tried to fight her way out of me. Only I wasn’t going to let it happen. I wasn’t going to be stuck in this madhouse forever, with all my former selves driving me completely crazy.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, twisting Peepee’s ears through my fingers while I tried to think. We all had a Peepee—a little gray rabbit filled with tiny beans so he flopped in your hands. A warm memory took me by surprise: Mom tucking him into bed with me on the day I emerged. She didn’t quite get that a new Peepee wasn’t the same as the original, but giving each of us our own version was one of the few things she did that actually made a difference. I remember exactly how I’d felt in that moment: kind of relieved and kind of put out. I still wanted Fifteen’s Peepee. What a stupid thing to want when I was about to take everything else. Ollie. Mads. Everything.

Six months, then, to stop it happening to me. And I was going to stop it. I was absolutely not giving up my life for someone else to take over.

So I had to do something about it.

Ten out of ten for determination. Zero out of ten for a decent plan. I nibbled the raw skin on my fingertips, a habit Mom totally hated, along with scratching behind my knees, flicking the plastic cover off my phone, wanting to have a future—you know, just the small things in life.

Mom liked to pretend everything was fine. We didn’t even need a doctor, apparently. And I’d asked. Quite a few times. She always cut me off with a variety of excuses, all of which boiled down to the same thing—Mom’s number one rule: The world must not know about our freakery.

Not long after I emerged, I’d called a meeting of Tevas, to find out if the others knew anything I didn’t. Fifteen wouldn’t come—no surprise there, she could barely bring herself to look at me after I took over—but apart from little Eva, the rest of them did. I got Eight to listen out for Mom.

Like a spy? she said, clapping her hands together and taking up position by my bedroom door. I dimly remembered us reading Harriet the Spy around that age and totally loving anything a bit secretive. I should probably explain, they didn’t think of themselves as numbers—as far as they were concerned, they were all still Teva, but because only one of us went to school, only one of us could have the name and that was always the most current one. Except for Eva and Six—Eva never went to school, so Six was the first one to be Teva and the first one to have to give up her name and her life.

I’d looked around at them all. Fourteen leaned against my dressing table, arms folded tight across her chest; Seven sat at her feet gazing up adoringly. Thirteen and Twelve, more like twins than anything else, sprawled across my bed like they owned the place, laughing at celebrity arm fat in Mom’s Chatter magazine. Nine and Ten sat on the floor, legs crossed, heads tipped together over a notebook. They were writing an autobiography—probably the world’s first to be written by two people about their one life. That was also the most interesting thing about it, seeing as they didn’t really have a life any more. Six was huddled in a corner, making herself as small as possible, and Eleven was going through my wardrobe looking for stuff so she could dress herself up as Hermione Granger. A doomed mission, as we all had the same short, fluffy, blond, completely un-Hermione-like hair.

That’s all of us. There’s no Four or Five. I don’t know why.

I said, We need to discuss our future.

"Your future, you mean," Fourteen said.

"No, all of our futures."

We don’t have a future, though, do we? she said. This is it for us.

I knew she was kind of right, but I also knew I couldn’t do anything about it if I ended up just as trapped as they were.

I was thinking about going to a doctor, I told them.

Six whimpered in the corner, then jerked to her feet and bolted out the door.

Oh good one, well done, Thirteen said, stomping out after Six, rapidly followed by Twelve. I watched them leave, astonished at the reaction.

I turned to the others. Why is Six so upset?

Ten looked up from her writing and said, Probably scared.

What? Why? I could remember things we’d shared, but it was hard if I didn’t know what I was looking for—like sifting through a dusty junk shop to find something you’d never seen before. I tried to find something in the memories Six had left behind, but all I got was a dark feeling of unease.

Nine said, Doctors will just want to experiment on us.

Oh don’t be ridiculous, I said.

Ten backed her up. It’s true, actually. Mom told us. She won’t let you go anyway. Ask her. I bet you a million dollars she won’t.

Well, I knew that already, I said. I could go on my own.

No! squeaked Seven, shooting to her feet. I don’t want to be an experiment.

Fourteen slipped an arm around her shoulder and said, Don’t worry. Then to me: There’s no point seeing a doctor, I tried that. They thought I was making everything up to get attention.

Fourteen’s memory bobbed to the surface of my brain, clouded with embarrassment. I blushed on her behalf. The doctor she’d seen had been about ninety—he’d sighed, muttered something about girls your age, and suggested a psychiatric referral. Nice.

I said, Maybe if we went together they’d believe us. You’d be walking proof I wasn’t making it up.

Seven clenched her fists. No! I’m not going and you can’t make me.

Fourteen said, Just forget it. Mom’d go nuts if she knew you were even thinking about it.

But if we got help, you wouldn’t have to be stuck here all day.

Really? We could all go into the world and everyone would love us, would they? The freak family? I don’t think so.

Fourteen took Seven’s hand and left, shaking her head. I looked at Nine and Ten. They shrugged and gathered up their things. End of meeting.

When I went downstairs, Six was under the banister peeling the wallpaper off and Mom was waiting for me by the bottom step, disappointment radiating from her. Nine and Ten were lurking behind her—they’d clearly ratted me out.

Why, Teva? said Mom. We’re fine, aren’t we? We manage okay. Other people won’t understand you, darling, not even doctors. They’ll think you’re . . .

Crazy? A freak? Yeah. I know. You’ve told me enough times.

Not a fr . . . just . . . people can be very unkind.

"If you’re ashamed of us, I could go to the doctor with a couple of the others. You don’t need to come."

I’m not ashamed! I just know what will happen. They’ll want to do tests on you—horrible tests. They might take you away from me, Tee, put you in the hospital. Why won’t you trust me?

Her bottom lip wobbled, and I felt horrible. That bottom lip got me every time.

Don’t cry, Mom. I do trust you, of course I do.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. You have to believe me, Teva. We’re better on our own. You have no idea how cruel people can be.

Maybe she was right. Maybe she had taken us to a doctor and it had been so awful we’d buried the memory deep, deep down. It was so frustrating, not being able to find what I needed to know in my own brain—it was like parts of me were just locked away.

So I’d left it at that with her, but I hadn’t given up. I spent literally hours on the Internet trying to understand what was wrong with us.

The lure of Google was irresistible. I pulled my laptop onto my knee and started a new search.

It was hard to know what to look for. Splitting cells brought up stuff on spreadsheets. "Body inside another body" brought up stories about twins who had gotten stuck inside each other in the womb. Nothing explained us. And, of course, all medical roads on Google lead to one place in the end: cancer.

I told myself: It’s not cancer. It can’t be. I feel too well. We’d be in the hospital having treatment. Even Mom wouldn’t stop that happening if we had cancer.

Cancer did not grow a whole new version of a person. I stroked Peepee’s ears until my heart stopped pounding and I could see my laptop clearly, without all the words blurring together.

I scanned the results page and saw a new Wikipedia entry. With a little bloom of optimism, I clicked on the link. It was just some kind of science-fiction joke. I clearly was not half girl, half fly. I didn’t have boggle eyes or a hairy back or a terrible temper. Okay, maybe the temper, but apart from a few jealous twinges about Ollie, I’d pretty much gotten control of that over the last few months. I drummed my fingers lightly on the keyboard; it rattled softly. I went back to the results page. Google was getting me nowhere.

Maybe I wasn’t looking properly. I mean there’s no librarian on Google, is there? You’re totally alone—you and a billion answers. As I stared at the list of websites, though, I had an idea. Maybe there were other people with the same condition looking for information just like me? What if I put something on the Internet and let them find me? Would that work?

I pulled the cuff of my cardigan over my knuckle and wiped the lens of my webcam. Maybe, if I told the world, someone, somewhere, would have an idea how to help? I hesitated.

There was one tiny problem with my genius plan: Mom. She’d totally lose it if she found out.

I’d do a practice run—that wasn’t breaking any rules—and then, if I looked like a total twit or I changed my mind, I wouldn’t post it. I got up and dumped my bathrobe in a heap behind my bedroom door, to slow down anyone trying to come in, then pulled my laptop back on my knee and waved at the camera.

Okay. So hi. I’m Teva Webb. Well, the current me at any rate. My mom would hate this—me talking to you. Don’t trust the Internet, Teva, pedophiles are sneaky—they’ll look for reflections in your eyeballs and work out where you live . . .

Rambling like a lunatic wasn’t going to help. I tried again.

Hi, I’m Teva Webb, Freak of Nature. I have a large family—a very large family. There are twelve of us plus my single, never-go-out mother—that’s nearly one a year for the whole of my life. It’s a miracle, I hear you cry, right? Well . . . no. Here’s the thing. I’ve got this condition where I don’t quite grow up like normal people . . .

I stopped. The reality of what lay ahead of me closed off my throat for a second. Six months . . . it wasn’t long enough. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyelids. Come on, Teva . . . I breathed out a shaky stream of air and turned back to the camera.

"So here it is. Roughly every birthday, a new me forces its way out of the old one. I don’t know exactly how it works. I know it hurts. I know every cell inside me will split apart and seal up again until the new me has completely torn herself away. I think it’s a bit like how twins separate in the womb, only with a lot more cells.

Once it’s started, we pull apart like Velcro. That makes it sound easy. It’s not. Imagine you’re trapped in glue, the whole of your body, and if you don’t pull yourself out you’ll drown. The glue tries to hold you but you tear yourself free, and when it finally lets go, it seals over and hardens.

The thick silvery skin in the crook of my elbow niggled at me. The insides of my joints itched most of the time—the skin there was flaky and scarred. I had a theory it was because they didn’t quite seal properly after the separation and were constantly trying to repair—you know, how the skin under a scab does when it’s getting better? It was worse when I was stressed, and thinking about the future was about as stressful as it got. I forced myself not to scratch and turned back to the camera.

I don’t know why it happens. I only know it will. I’ll still be here, but a new Teva will take over my life. Thanks to my mother’s paranoia, only the new version of us leaves the house. That’s not even the worst of it. Only three of us have a room to ourselves. Fifteen because she’s so . . . hmm . . . what? Let’s be fair—angry? Bitter? Constantly furious—mostly with me. And Six because, well, she’s weird. I’ve got the last free room because, obviously, I couldn’t share with Fifteen. But when the new Teva comes along, I’ll have to share with her. Only it’s not exactly sharing, because I have to give up everything.

I sighed and reached for my phone. My lifeline to the two people who kept me sane, who reminded me I had a place in the world. For now anyway. It was nearly quarter past seven. Ollie finished soccer at half past. My Ollie. Mine. A sudden surge of anger fired me up—there was that Teva temper—and I turned back to the camera for one more minute.

I need help to fix this. I need someone’s help from out there. When my time comes, when a new Teva starts to fight her way out of me, I need to be ready to stop her. Because she’s not taking my life. She’s not.

My voice squeezed into a dry husk.

I hate it, hate it. It’s five months and twenty-three days until my next birthday, and I’m going to find a way to make it stop. I am.

2

My bedroom door bumped against the bundled-up bathrobe and Eight slipped into my room, helpfully picking up my doorstop and trailing it across the floor to my bed.

Thanks, I said, flipping the laptop closed. I put that there to keep you guys out.

Most of the time I didn’t really mind the others coming in my room, but sometimes I just wished I could have a bit of time on my own. Eight climbed onto my bed, a little blueprint of me. Pale skin with a permanent blush, even paler tufty hair, and deep blue sleepy eyes.

What are you doing?

Yeah, what are you doing? said Nine, sauntering in with her recorder swinging menacingly from her fingers—I absolutely was not in the mood for a screechy recital of God Bless America.

I said, Nothing, and if you’re planning on playing that thing, please do it in your own room. Or in the loft. Or on the moon.

You are doing something, insisted Nine. We heard you talking.

Eva toddled in, her thumb in her mouth. She flopped Peepee on my bed. Eva, of course, had the original Peepee. Hers had soggy, chewed ears, and she carried him everywhere. She loved him with a passion bordering on violence. Miraculously, she pushed him toward me. I couldn’t help but smile at the offer of such a treasured possession. I took Peepee, avoiding his wet ears, and pulled Eva onto the bed, pressing a kiss on her soft little head. Eight opened my laptop, and I reached around and took it back from her.

No chance, you.

I need it.

You don’t.

I do. I’m going to find Dad.

I froze for a second. Dad left years ago. We had no idea where he went, but we all secretly yearned for him—yep, even though we’d guessed he’d probably run out on us because we were so weird. What kid doesn’t want a dad in their life? As gently as I could, I said, Don’t start this again. He’s not on Facebook, we looked, remember? Her chin wobbled and my heart twisted for her, for us. I felt the dad-shaped hole in our life just as much as she did. As all of them did. Except Fifteen, who’d never admit to missing anyone who’d let her down so much.

I relented. Go on, then, see what you can find.

She definitely thought about him more than the rest of us—I reckoned it was a combination of too much boredom and too much Enid Blyton. She’d built up a picture of a big bear of a man who was desperately sorry for leaving and was now searching for us. It was as good a picture as any. I gave Eight half a smile and said, If you find him, I get first dibs on all the pocket money we’re due, okay?

She smiled and hunched over the keyboard.

Eva took Peepee back. ’Smine, she said, stuffing his soggy ear into her mouth.

Teva? Mom’s tired voice called up the stairs, followed by her heavy tread. There were three floors in our rambling old house, and we needed all of them. My room was only on the second floor, but it still took Mom a good couple of minutes to puff her way up. She stopped in the doorway to catch her breath before complaining, Can’t you hear me calling? I need help in the kitchen.

I’ve got homework. Can’t one of the others help?

Mom flinched. I’m asking you. Don’t make a thing of it. The place is a mess, and I’ve got a book to finish writing by the end of the week. Please?

She gave me a sad puppy look.

All right, I said. I’ll be down in two minutes.

I sat Eva back against my pillows, tickling her tiny ribs. She squawked happily for a second, and a little pang darted through me, that this was all the happiness she ever got.

I knew she tried, but Mom had no idea what it was like for us. My stomach clenched as my future flashed through my mind again. This every day forever, only without school, without . . .

My phone beeped.

Got time for a chat?

Mads. I messaged back.

Later. Am required to wait hand and foot on Mom x

I texted Ollie too:

Hope soccer was good, love you xxx

How could I manage without them in my life? What would be the point? I flicked away the messages and let my fingers linger on my background photo. Our happy faces filled the screen, Ollie’s beautiful brown cheek pressed against my pink one. We’d gone to Yellow Lake for the day. It had been freezing cold but so worth it. I felt like he was mine, at last, completely mine—not seen through Fifteen’s eyes or kissed through Fifteen’s lips. We’d stopped under a huge tree that had a sort of dip in it. He’d leaned me back against the bark and blocked the wind with his body, and as he looked down at me, I was safe. Warm and safe and home.

The memory of that outing twisted inside me, tainted by Fifteen’s bitter rantings. The trip wasn’t meant for me. It should have happened the Saturday before, but Ollie had postponed it for a soccer game. Fifteen had been looking forward to it for weeks, but she never got to go. I took over, and I took Ollie. She never got to see him again.

You can see why she hated me.

3

The next morning I was shocked awake by Fifteen slamming through my bedroom doorway. I jerked upright, my heart pumping crazily.

Not getting up? she said, banging the wardrobe doors open. I checked my clock and threw the covers back sharply.

You could have woken me.

Just did, didn’t I? She pulled an old school sweatshirt out of the closet and said, Mine, I think? Unless you own everything now?

She flounced out.

Reviews for More of Me

[rivkat_2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

YA about 16-year-old Teva, part of a line of Tevas who replicate out of the previous Teva each year; their traumatized mother keeps all but the most recent Teva at home (except for the mysteriously missing 4 and 5). Teva’s time is approaching, 15 is trying to undermine her and rages against her for stealing “her” boyfriend, and trying to deal with all that and thinking about college and dealing with her boyfriend’s neediness is overwhelming. The premise was good, but I have to admit I’m too old to find Teva’s angst and bad decisions enjoyable. The ending was a good idea (a bit rushed in execution but no more than standard for these types of books).

[kmartin802_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This science fiction story tells about a girl named Teva who looks pretty ordinary on the outside. She goes to school, hangs out with her best friend, and is devoted to her boyfriend Ollie. But on the inside things are not at all ordinary.Each year, Teva unwillingly clones herself. Only the most recent Teva is allowed to go out of the house. This story is told by the most recent Teva who is very worried about having only one year before another Teva takes over. The previous Teva - Fifteen - is angry that the current Teva has taken over her life, best friend and boyfriend and is sneaking out of the house to be with him.Despite her mother's demand that they keep their existence a secret, the current Teva begins an investigation to find out why they are like they are. She doesn't understand why her mother is so determined not to go to doctors to get some help. She begins a blog that talks about her strange illness in hopes of finding someone else who has the same thing happening in their life.I liked a lot of this story. Teva was an interesting character who was rightly concerned that something was wrong with her. I liked her relationship with her best friend and I liked that she was building a relationship with a new boy in her design class. I liked that she was willing to fight to keep her life and that she was developing agency. Her younger selves, except for Fifteen, were willing to follow their mother without thinking about it.I felt that it was unnecessary to Americanize the book by throwing in the names of US colleges. I felt that it made the story feel a little discordant to me. I had the feeling as I was reading that the story took place somewhere else and then an Americanism was thrown in.Overall, I enjoyed the book and think it would appeal to many young adults.