Amy, Number Fifteen

How Many Are There?  Really?

            The last day of school this year was probably the best day of Amy's life.  From the very day that this awful year had begun, she had desperately wished that it could be over.  Now, she was finally in the ninth grade, and Amy Lawrence could hardly wait.  She sighed as she put all of her notebooks in a pile, and raced to her locker to put them all away, into her backpack, where they would stay until the next school year began.  As she deposited her belongings, her best friend, Sandy came to talk to her.

            "Hi," she said.

            "Hey, Sandy," Amy said routinely, as she jammed her spirals into her backpack.  "Should I call you, or are you going to call me?"

            "I'll call you," Sandy said.  "But we're still going to Hedgemead, right?"

            Amy nodded.  "Yeah, that is going to be so much fun," she sighed happily, imagining the camp in her mind.

            "Well, it will be better than that science camp you went to last year," Sandy commented.

            Amy groaned.  "Don't remind me," she said hastily.  "Hopefully there won't be any creepy people at Hedgemead."

            Sandy sighed.  "There won't be, I assure you.  The kids there are really nice.  Remember, I went last year!"

            Amy nodded.  "Right."

            "Well, I have to go, or I'll miss my bus.  I'll call you after Art class," she said.

            "Okay," Amy said.

            She zipped up her backpack, and she remembered to say goodbye to the rest of her friends, before triumphantly racing out of the school, enjoying her parole.  Her grandparents, as usual, waited to pick her up.

            "So, how was your day?" they asked her.

            "Great," Amy said enthusiastically.  When she arrived home, she logged onto her computer, and went onto a message board that she was accustomed to viewing.  However, what she found there shocked her.

Any Amys online?                          Posted by: Annie Perrault

            Amy was confused.  Why would someone post on the Internet just to find out that else was named Amy.  Still, her curiosity took control of her, and made her click on the message board.

            Hi, my name is Annie, and I am from Paris.  Well, I'll make it quick.  Are you adopted?  Do you have natural brown hair and brown eyes?  Have you never been sick?  Do you think that you are perfect?  Do you have a crescent moon mark on your right shoulder?  Is your name Amy?  Are you fourteen, and entering the ninth or tenth grade, depending on what school district you live in?  If you meet the criteria, e-mail me at

            Now, Amy was even more curious.  What was Annie getting at?  And why was she describing her?  Amy shuddered.  Relax, she thought.  You have red hair.  And you don't have a crescent moon on your back.  Well, she used to.

            Without thinking clearly, Amy clicked on Annie's e-mail address, and wrote a message.

            Hello.  My name is Amy.  I used to have a crescent moon on my back, but it faded after I pierced my ears.  I think I was better at things before that, but Mom told me I was just being stressed to think that.  Why are you looking for someone like me?

            Amy checked out some other websites, and pushed Annie to the back of her mind for a while, or tried to at least, until a voice chirped.  You've got mail!

            Amy clicked on the box, and sure enough, Annie had written back.

            Amy, I am very glad that you wrote to me.  I know this may be unbelievable, but you are a clone.  If you take your earrings out, and let the holes close up, you will be perfect again.  Trust me.  Go to this attachment and look at a picture of me.  I am an Amy too.

            Amy shrieked.  "I am not a clone," she shouted at the computer.  Remembering that Annie could not hear her, she clicked the attachment, and a girl's picture popped up.  Long, straight brown hair, brown eyes, perfect teeth.  Amy shuddered as she imagined Annie with short, dyed red hair, and glasses, and earrings that she had needed after her ears were pierced.

            Amy's mouth went dry as she typed back.  Tell me more, she wrote.

            "Amy, we're home," her mother called out.

            "Mom?" she asked.  "What is going on?  A girl named Annie wrote me, and said that I'm a clone.  You have some explaining to do!"

            Amy's mother's mouth went dry.  "Annie.  You mean, Amy, Number Nine.  She must have been one of the first twelve.  How did she find out about the secretly cloned Amys?  You were Number Fifteen."

            Amy screamed.  "No!  I can't be a clone!  Mom, please!  Say it isn't true!  Clones don't exist!  Well, except for that baby Eve in.  Are we in a cult?  Omg, Mom, tell me what's going on!"

            "Well, Amy.  Sit down," her mother said, sitting her down on the couch.  "Fourteen years ago, I was a member of a secret government organization aimed to bring people to a higher level of physical and mental perfection.  We assigned a group of scientists to create twelve male and female clones.  However, Dr. Morrison of the group was told that there was a chance that the scientists would terminate the project.  She then cloned four more in each set.  Amy, Number Thirteen was discovered, so her earlobe was punctured.  This eliminates your perfection.  Then, with Amys Fourteen, Fifteen, and Sixteen, they were adopted among members of the Organization.  I pierced your ears, so that no one could use you until you were ready."

            "Use me?" Amy asked.  "For what?"

            "Well, it's complicated.  But I think that you will enjoy this camp you are going to," her mother said.

            Amy's mouth was so dry that she could not say a word, until the phone rang.  "That's Sandy," she said, picking it up.

            "Hello?" Amy asked.

            "Hi," Sandy said.  "I just called to tell you that I can't go to camp because so many people signed up that there wasn't room for me."

            "What?" Amy gasped.


            Annie groaned as she sat at the table.  "Annie, you should really be thanking us for returning you from that autopsy," Annie's mother said.  "It's a miracle that we could return you to your original age."

            Annie groaned.  "I could have done so much."

            "I just hope that a month at Hedgemead will clear up your mind," Annie's father said.

            "Oh, that," she groaned.  "What fun."

Note: I do not own Annie, or the original thirteen Amys and twelve Andys.  I do, sort of, own Fifteen, but not really.  Marilyn Kaye owns replica.