Free Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature by Robin Brande Page A

you.”
    “C?”
    Casey said, “I'm C, Kayla's K. Otherwise you have to wait until the second syllable to know who's being yelled at.”
    “That's right,” his mother said. “I'm always yelling. You kids hungry?”
    I nodded, but mostly I was still puzzling over the whole “C's told us a lot about you.” Like what? He's only known me a week. I sure haven't gotten around to mentioning him to my parents. Not that that's a huge surprise. They'd probably schedule a parent-teacher with Ms. Shepherd and demand she assign me to a girl.
    “I'll watch the babies,” Mrs. Connor told Casey. “I need a break anyway. There might still be some lasagna in the fridge.”
    I wasn't anxious to let go of Christmas, but lasagna did sound awfully good. Another lunch period in the library had left me semi-starved.
    We went through the sliding glass doors back into the living room. “There's some pizza, too,” Mrs. Connor called after us.
    “I love your house,” I told Casey, and I wasn't entirely talking about the place. I loved that there was pizza and lasagna. I loved that the whole house smelled like wood and books and felt like a place you could really relax.I loved that Casey's mom actually talked like a real person to us instead of the fake way my mother talks to my friends—”And how was school? And how are your parents? Be sure to tell them I said hi.” Like anyone actually tells someone hi.
    I followed Casey to the kitchen. “Your mom's really pretty.”
    “Thanks.” He seemed sort of embarrassed by the compliment. He opened the fridge and pulled out a casserole dish.
    “Is it all right if I look around?” I asked.
    “Help yourself. Don't try to take anything—we have hidden cameras.”
    While Casey warmed up lasagna in the microwave, I wandered back into the living room. Okay, I admit it—to snoop. You can tell a lot about somebody by the little things they leave around.
    Like the pictures on the mantel. There were a bunch with Casey at various ages and a girl I assumed was his sister. They looked almost identical, except she was a little taller. There were a few pictures with Mrs. Connor and a guy I assumed was their father. Obviously Casey and his sister got their hair from their mother, since their dad's was this thin, wispy reddish blond.
    “He died,” Casey said matter-of-factly. I turned to find him carrying in our plates.
    “Who?”
    “My father. It was really sad. You want some milk?”
    “Oh, I—”
    “I'll be right back.” Casey disappeared into the kitchen before I could think of something better to say.
    But you have to say something, right? So when he came back I went with the usual, “I'm really sorry.”
    “It wasn't your fault.” He handed me my milk. “Want anything else?”
    “No, but—”
    “So, the project,” Casey interrupted, sinking onto the couch.
    Okay, so obviously he didn't want to talk about it. I can take a hint. I stopped trying to console him and sat on one of the cushy chairs.
    “We only have the litter for about two more weeks,” Casey said, “so we need to get on this right away. If you agree.” He shoveled in a forkful of lasagna.
    “Why only two weeks?”
    Casey mumbled past his food. “Owners like to take them at eight weeks.”
    Already I was missing my little Christmas.
    Casey gulped down some milk and went on. “So I thought we'd start today, making a chart with all of their relevant information—height, weight, personality score—”
    “What's that?”
    Casey waited until he'd swallowed another massive bite. By the way, his mother does make killer lasagna. We were eating it like a pack of wild dogs.
    “It's this test to see how bold they are, which of them like being handled, which don't—that sort of thing. I have some things to add to it, of course. For instance, I've noticed Lily is a real music lover, whereas Red wouldrather hear two pans banging together. I thought we'd start with a baseline today, then observe any changes over the next two