Lucky thirteen. Yeah, right. With all the perfect clones, they're gonna figure out I'm not three. I'm not even as smart as the kids I go to school with, and nowhere near as good as the Amys. I'm just Aly Kendrick, number 13, the dud. And what happens when they find out I'm not like the others? They're not just going to let me go home. I'm not *that* stupid. Amy, I guess I should call her 'Seven', says that they want us to make perfect babies with our perfect DNA. But I'm not perfect, and sooner or later they're gonna realize that I'm not like the others, unless I do this now. I may even not have average intelligence, but I know how to disassemble a razor, and I have enough strength to cut open my throat so that I bleed to death before *they* find me out and do it for me.

Because, this at least, I can do myself.