Charisma Page 5

  I can’t imagine Dr. Sternfield pawing through the sand dressed in one of her impeccable outfits. “Not today.”

  “My girl, the workaholic.” He shakes his head with pride.

  Sammy launches into a fit of coughing that we wait with averted eyes for him to complete. But it keeps going. I pat his back, which feels warm through his T-shirt. His face is damp from the exertion and he pulls a tissue from his pocket.

  I say, “Let’s sit, huh? You feel hot.”

  He chokes out, “I’m okay.”

  Mom’s already spotted us and hurries over. I sigh. Sammy hates a commotion on his behalf. Within minutes, Mom and Dr. Gordon take him off to one of Nova Genetics’ doctors for a look-see. Sammy’s eyes are miserable as he’s hauled away, coughing. If only it could be me enduring some of this on his behalf.

  Before anyone else’s mood dives into somberness, Sally Sims bounces among the crowd in her dainty flats, calling out, “We’ve got a scrumptious lunch for everyone.”

  I’ve feasted here often enough to guess that the buffet will include fresh crab legs and truffle risotto. Hopefully, Sammy’ll finish up with the doctor soon. I scan for Chloe, but she’s deep in conversation with Shane, probably telling him what a misfit I am and not to take it personally. Great, I’ll have to eat alone. Not that I have much appetite. Shoulders slumped, I follow the crowd.

  Near the door, I’m overtaken by a waft of jasmine cologne from behind. I whip around to find Dr. Sternfield at my side. She’s dressed all in white, from her silk hairband to her shiny pumps. In that instant, a beam of sunshine flares through the large window above, lighting her up like a modern-day fairy godmother.

  And, oh, do I have wishes.

  Gene Doping—The End of Competitive Sports?

  Or the Beginning of a Whole New Game?

  by Lance Starkman, US Sports and Leisure

  The rapid muscle gain by college senior Will Williams, starting linebacker for the Warriors football team, has opposing teams up in arms. Williams insists his fifty-pound gain in the past year is due to an intense weight-lifting regimen, high-protein diet, and “good old-fashioned growth spurt.” Others point a finger to the new science of gene doping, where altered DNA is injected into an athlete’s body to increase athletic performance by stimulating pain tolerance, muscle growth, and endurance.

  The International Council on Sportsmanship is developing a blood test to detect altered genes. Dr. Sampson Vogler states, “Artificially introduced DNA lacks certain sequences found in naturally occurring DNA. We know where to look and we know what to look for. This test should be included in our arsenal before the end of the year.”

  So far, science may be able to catch up with cheaters. But others believe it’s only a matter of time before those seeking to circumvent the testing process develop transgenic genes that don’t include the telltale signs of manipulation. Like the perfect counterfeit currency, undetectable fakes stand to make a fortune.

  Unlike the other staff who’ve traded their work clothes for jeans and knit shirts today, Dr. Sternfield wears a simple linen dress with a lab coat. Yet, for the first time I can recall, her reddish-brown hair hangs loose to her shoulders beneath the hairband. She leans toward me. “Hello, Aislyn. How hungry are you?”

  “Um, not very.”

  “Care for a visit with our long-armed friends?”

  As if I’d ever say no to playing with the chimps. “Sure.”

  She leads us down a quiet corridor away from the cafeteria. “What a relief to get away from paperwork for a day.”

  I know I should make nice before getting to business, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “So is Sammy a, um, viable candidate?”

  She winks. “Well, I can’t provide any details just yet, but the guidelines do provide a fair amount of room for discretion.”

  “Thanks so much for whatever you do. It would mean everything to us.”

  I expect to head outside to the geodesic cages, where the chimps normally play, but Dr. Sternfield waits at an unmarked elevator that requires a key. We go down two floors where the AC is on full blast, and then through a winding passageway to an area I haven’t visited before. When we reach a heavy door, she raises her eye to a retinal scanner and punches in a code. No other lab I’ve seen here requires this much security.

  The room inside glows with full spectrum lighting, but I still get a claustrophobic shudder. This room is even colder than the hallway, and smells like rubbing alcohol.

  We stroll past cages to one with a sign that reads RUBY. She’s my favorite chimp, and Steffie, her caretaker, used to let me feed her when she was a baby. Even though Ruby should be used to humans, she still hides if the voices around her get too loud. I can relate.

  We stop at her cage. Ruby scuttles our way, and puts out a knobby hand as if she wants us to shake it. That’s a first. Dr. Sternfield laughs and pats her long fingers. I’d swear Ruby smiles before she does a little twirl.

  Dr. Sternfield leans toward me and even though no one else is nearby, she whispers, “Charisma.”

  “She totally has that. But how did you train her?”

  She scratches Ruby’s head. “Train? I don’t think you understand. I gave her the therapy I told you about, for sociability. Charisma, or CZ88, if you prefer the official name.”

  Blood rushes to my head so fast I wobble. “What? You already have a treatment? I thought you were only doing a study.”

  Her eyes gleam. “Well, I need to be careful with how much I say to whom. But I’ve got a strong vibe about your trustworthiness, Aislyn. Anyway, I’ve been working on this since med school. The chimps are my second mammal test. The first group included the most charming rats you’d ever hope to meet.”

  A pounding picks up in my chest. “Wow. Wow.” I let Ruby take my hand through the bars. “She’s so friendly. How many chimps have you tested it on?”

  “Five. It’s like a primate party in here sometimes.”

  “I’ll bet Steffie loves that.”

  Dr. Sternfield’s eyes flash for a moment before she smiles. “Yeah, she’s been enjoying herself.”

  I watch Ruby, who appears to be dancing. “She seems really happy. Can you measure that?”

  Dr. Sternfield purses her lips. “That’s subjective to assess in humans, much less animals. But we can measure stress. And Ruby’s levels of norepinephrine, cortisol, and adrenaline have decreased significantly.”

  It wouldn’t take a blood test to prove my stress hormones were off the charts at the party, despite the beer. What’s my normal happiness level? When I chat with Jack online, my levels float upward for sure. But now? Low, abysmally low.

  Dr. Sternfield continues, “No matter how happy the chimps are, there’s a huge gap between making the jump from animal trials to human clinical trials. You know what they call that gap in the R and D business? The Valley of Death. Where perfectly good projects meet an untimely end.”

  She’s used the term before, but never has it caused me such a pang of disappointment. “You can’t let this project die. It could be so amazing.”

  Her smile is rueful. “I know. Believe me. Yet amazing won’t be enough to get it approved via official channels any time soon. My father’s adamant that Nova Genetics only targets diseases, the more life-threatening, the better.”

  I say in a low voice, “Sometimes I think feeling like this is worse than a disease.”

  She sighs. “I understand, Aislyn. And by the time the world catches up on gene enhancement, I’ll probably be ready for a walker.”

  My breathing hitches. “So you aren’t going to test it on humans any time soon?” A fresh batch of tears brews behind my eyes, even though I’m sure I used up my quota last night.

  Her face goes steely and she grinds the toe of her pump into the white tile floor. “It’s ridiculous. Can you imagine how many people crippled by shyness and social phob
ia I could help?”

  “It would be life-changing.”

  She gives me an appraising look. “I’ve seen the questionnaires you filled out for the family dynamics study. How you ache to speak up so badly, to be heard, but at the same time are terrified to. When I started college at fourteen, I was the tiniest kid in the room, with the squeakiest voice, unable to raise my hand even though I knew all the answers.”

  I know all about keeping my hand down. About what it’s like to keep your spirit trapped at ground level. “It’s hard to believe gene therapy could make someone braver.”

  She purses her lips. “Well, personality is terribly complex. Charisma, or CZ88, targets multiple genes that work in harmony, DNA that might be dismissed by other researchers. But one scientist’s trash is another’s treasure.”

  I can’t picture genes as tiny packets of trash or treasure, but Dr. Sternfield never shies away from colorful descriptions. One of the first explanations she gave me of how gene therapy works was to imagine the viral vector as a shipping box addressed to specific tissues in the body. Inside the box was altered DNA that could take the place of faulty genes or instruct them to behave differently. The virus could hold so much DNA before ripping apart, but if you had too little DNA in it, you’d need to include stuffer DNA, like packing peanuts.

  I kick at the tile, mirroring Dr. Sternfield. “If you were able to get approval, how long before you had something you could test in humans?”

  She cocks her head and stares at me for a long moment. “It’s ready now.”

  My vision goes blurry. “As in today now?”

  “Today now,” she says with as much of a grin as she’ll allow.

  I shiver. “And it’s safe?”

  She bristles. “I’ve tested drugs for years, with a stellar safety record.” She exhales loudly. “But no matter how safe I know Charisma to be, the FDA will prevent this from going to clinical trials. Which is why my days at Nova Genetics are numbered.”

  A surge of panic races through me. My voice squeaks out, “What?”

  “I’ve got to go where I can help the most people. Right now, that’s not the US.”

  No, this can’t be happening. To get so close to a dream, and have it snatched away before I could grab it. Without thinking of what’s coming out of my mouth, I say, “What if you performed a pre-trial before you left? On someone who really needs it?”

  Her brow furrows. “Are you proposing what I think you are?”

  I don’t know. Am I?

  She says, “It’s okay to say no. Not everyone is up to making monumental changes in their lives.”

  She’s actually offering it to me. Well, what better guinea pig than someone whose life is a monumental disaster? “When would I have to decide and get the paperwork in?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m afraid there isn’t the luxury of a long decision. Or paperwork. But if you’re serious about improving your life, I could help you today, as in today today.”

  My insides freeze. “Don’t you need to track things so you can publish your findings?”

  She reaches into Ruby’s cage to stroke her head. “Here I thought we were on the same page, damn the official channels. By the time you come back for the next family meeting, I’ll have moved on.”

  The walls around me seem to hum, or maybe that’s my veins throbbing. I rub at my temples. “Sorry. I’m just getting used to the idea. Doing things in secret could get you into a lot of trouble, couldn’t it?”

  “Only if people found out. But I trust you, Aislyn. And I want to help you and others now. Just like I want to help Sammy get into the AV719 trial even though he’s had more infections and exhibits less lung capacity than the average eleven-year-old with CF. The business interests behind that trial want kids who have the best chance of improving, to yield the highest success rate.”

  The panic I felt a moment earlier over losing out on a miracle drug doubles when it comes to Sammy losing out. “That’s so unfair. They should help those who need it most.”

  She puts her hands on my shoulders, the first time she’s ever touched me beyond a handshake. I feel her fingernails through my sleeves. “I’m willing to support him, even if that means not adhering so strictly to black-and-white regulations. Are you with me, Aislyn?”

  Everything around me seems blurry, except her eyes, which shine like crystals. I say, “If I agree, how would I take it?”

  “An injection, clean and simple. Probably only one dose, but no guarantees. We don’t know how quickly the viral vector that delivers the treatment will propagate and how much of your DNA will be affected. Of course, you would be in total control of whether you received any further doses.”

  Next to us, Ruby rocks on the floor and seems content in a way I’ve never felt. I contemplate. “Can I talk to my mom? She’d keep this quiet since her kids are more important than any regulations.”

  Dr. Sternfield drops her hands from my shoulders. “Wow, I thought with your IQ— Look, let’s forget the whole thing, okay?” Brushing her palms against each other as if they’re dirty, she starts toward the door.

  Wait. What? My body freezes. Sammy and I could both change our lives thanks to Nova Genetics, and Dr. Sternfield. Getting over my shyness would even help me advocate for him. How could I pass up this chance? Mom, of anyone, would understand.

  Gulping a deep breath that leaves me dizzy, I say, “No, listen. I totally get why you need to keep this secret, especially with those crazy protesters outside. I’m in. I’m in.”

  She eyes me for what seems like a full minute and then finally nods. “Okay, Aislyn, as long as you’re sure.”

  “Absolutely.” Yes, it’s an experiment so secret I can’t even tell my mom. Yes, Dr. Sternfield’s passive-aggressive hard sell is annoying. But I sense we’re on the edge of something incredible.

  She pulls a clip out of her pocket and winds her hair up into a bun. “Since we still have your old blood sample, I’m already familiar with various antibodies that might’ve gotten in the way. You have a few odd ones, you know. Probably from your trip to Asia a few years ago. But no show stoppers, thank goodness.”

  Thank goodness is right. It’s scary that Evie’s family bringing me along for their vacation to Indonesia when we graduated from middle school could’ve ruined my chances for this. I say, “The only thing luckier would be if Charisma came in a capsule instead of an injection.”

  She traces her lower lip line with a manicured fingernail. “Well, someday, I dream of mass producing a version that’s sold over the counter—perhaps a powder you could inhale to bypass the blood-brain barrier. It could come in bright yellow packets with pink hearts stamped on them. What do you think?” She gives me a wink that makes me wonder if this last part is a joke meant to put me at ease.

  My mouth can’t bring itself to laugh, though. I follow Dr. Sternfield to a door that she unlocks with another code, leading to a small room. Inside, she has me take a seat while she washes and gloves up. From a small steel cabinet, she takes out a large syringe.

  “I know it’s intimidating, but if it makes you feel better, I’ve injected myself with needles even larger. Two seconds of pain for a lifetime of gain.”

  She wipes my upper arm with an alcohol pad and in the promised two seconds injects the treatment. With deft movements, she pops a little bandage on my arm. I could swear I feel the contents of the syringe flow up my arm. Even though I can hardly wait not to be shy, a tight panic fills my chest. Oh, wow, I’ve really done this.

  She pulls off her gloves. “If you feel panicky, take deep breaths. And if you need to talk to someone, you’ve got something I only give to very few people—my personal phone number. Use it, okay? We’re going to change the world, you and me.”

  I stare at the tiny bandage that covers so much. “I just want to change myself.”

  “Fair enough. Now, how about we go upstai
rs and see if they still have anything with truffles left?”

  We don’t say another word as we leave the room. I rub my arm, wondering what sizzles just below the skin, running rampant through my arteries. Could I rip off the bandage and suck it out like snake venom? How long before it starts affecting me? A day? A week? These are questions I should ask Dr. Sternfield, but now that the deed is done, I can’t bring myself to speak to her, standing only a foot away in the elevator and wearing a satisfied expression.

  Before hurrying off, she whispers, “Remember, not a word about the Charisma or Sammy’s clinical trial to anyone, okay?”

  I stammer my agreement and she’s gone. A nagging in my brain says I should’ve demanded more details. Well, soon, hopefully, I won’t be afraid to speak up ever again. My future now seems so much wider, waiting to be filled with opportunities, freedom, and maybe even Jack, if I can repair the damage of last night. I stroll to the cafeteria with a light step. But I still lack the courage to join Chloe, Shane, and the others laughing around a long table.

  For what I hope is the last time, I sneak off to a corner to eat alone.

  As I savor grilled salmon and asparagus, no geoducks for me, thank you, I take advantage of finally having phone reception. Evie texted again, with more detail. She and Rafe kissed “like crazy” after the party. Of course, I’m thrilled for her, but even more intrigued by the rest of her message—Jack couldn’t understand why I left early. Once she told him I had, he left too.

  Really? If only I hadn’t jumped to conclusions and freaked out about Alexandra. Now he’ll think I’m a total flake. Well, he probably already did after the beer incident. Before I can call Evie to find out more, Sally Sims announces we have two minutes to get to our next activity. Bleh. If I had the secret access codes for the lab downstairs, I’d hide out with Ruby instead.

  I chomp down the rest of my lunch, make my way to the Watson and Crick conference room, and take my place in a circle of chairs. Rosa rushes in at the last minute, her face pale. How odd. I’ve never seen her as anything but subdued. Suspicion darts through my brain. I check her arm for a bandage, but, like me, her shirt sleeves cover any evidence.