Deconstructing Dylan by Lesley Choyce Page B

mom answered. “That was how I met Dylan’s father.”
    Robyn studied her toast. “Oh.”
    I didn’t really understand what my father did at his company and I knew very little about my mother’s research before she quit working. I knew she was highly regarded. I even remembered her telling me a bit about genetics — at least as it related to bugs. She’d been able to explain to me all about Gregor Mendel’s experiments and what they meant when I was still quite young. I was kind of shocked to learn that other kids’ mothers didn’t fill them in about genetics at that age.
    More interesting to me than Mendel, however, was hearing the story of one of my early heroes, Thomas Hunt Morgan, and his research, using fruit flies, into the relationship between chromosomes and heredity. I remember giving an oral report on the subject in schoolwhen I was ten, and the teacher wrote on her evaluation, “Dylan showed much enthusiasm for his subject.” My talk began something like this: “Chromosomes are really cool.”
    â€œSo where do you live, Robyn?”
    â€œEmerson,” she said.
    â€œAnd you go to Brevard High?”
    â€œI transferred here.”
    â€œShe was picked on,” I said. “It was in her best interest.”
    My mother was about to ask for the story and I didn’t want to go there. “We gotta leave now or we’ll be late.”
    â€œSure,” my mom said, letting us both off the hook.
    I couldn’t believe Robyn’s skid. A two-door electric with retractable roof and full-solar hood. She started it up and it made no sound at all, much quieter than my dad’s dual-fuel Honda, which was an older combo — diesel-electric — and a real guzzler.
    â€œShe’s hiding something,” Robyn said.
    â€œNo, she was just trying to avoid talking to you about GM food and a few other things that she figured you’d be offended by.”
    â€œNo, it’s not that. I watched her face. Women can tell when other women are lying.”
    â€œLying? You’re talking about my mother.”
    â€œYou think parents don’t lie?”
    I didn’t want to hear Robyn trash my mother. I didn’t know why she was doing this but I figured I’d let it go. “Let’s just change the subject, okay?”
    â€œSure. Did you see that conceited jerk on the news who claimed there is no Loch Ness monster?” Robyn asked. She knew of my interest in Nessie.
    â€œYeah. What a party-pooper.”
    â€œDo you think he’s right?”
    â€œI know he’s not right. I swam in Loch Ness. I could feel the presence of something there. I know.”
    â€œYou swam in Loch Ness?”
    â€œMy parents took me to Scotland a few years back. I loved it.”
    â€œWeren’t you afraid?” “Trust me, the Loch Ness monster is a vegetarian. Maybe he eats fish sometimes but not meat.”
    She stopped for a light and stretched her arms up through the open roof. She smiled and transformed the world once again into a wonderful place to be alive. “That’s really cool that he’s a vegetarian. I’d like to meet him sometime. Would you introduce me?”
    â€œSure,” I said. “On our way to Tibet. We’ll fly to Glasgow and I’ll take you there. Just don’t try to explain to my friend that most people don’t believe he exists.”
    â€œIf you believe he’s real, then I believe he’s real,” she said.
    â€œOh, he’s real all right.”

C HAPTER T WELVE
    That day I again watched Robyn weather the harassment from kids at school. “The trick,” she said, “is to just not let them get to you. If you don’t react, if you don’t get angry, they have no power over you.”
    The girls were much harder on her than the guys. Miles may have gotten the ball rolling, but Robyn didn’t react, and as she’d predicted he moved