“Here are some envelopes. Write your name on the outside and seal them up. Trust me—I don’t even want to know what you guys have planned for yourselves.”

I slid my list into the envelope, and as I sealed it, I couldn’t help but imagine I was indeed sealing my fate.

The corners of my mouth rose slightly at the thought. Maybe I would finally find my father.

I used to fantasize the traditional secret agent scenario, and it made a lot of sense because my grandparents were dead. So I sort of rationalized that my father’s enemies discovered his true identity and they came and killed his family to teach him a lesson. The only way he could protect his wife and child was to leave them. I would’ve been very young, since my grandparents have been dead for as long as I can remember. “Old age,” Mom claims. That is all well and good, except I think I can remember the shoot-out. Anyway, since the bad guys would always be watching, he’s had to be very careful. I’m sure he wants to contact me, though.

I used to imagine him hiding in the drapes, behind pillars, in closets so he could always stay close and watch over me. Now I’m not so sure. I mean—hiding behind a pillar isn’t exactly stellar spy work. The standards on that have definitely been raised by Alias. But he has to be pretty good, considering I’ve found out more about where bin Laden is hiding than where my own father is.

The more logical choice, given my mother’s tender age when she conceived and all, leads me to believe that it wasn’t some CIA man but someone here in town who did the honors and donated his sperm to the Serena Moore Project. Someone who had no idea that he was even my father. Someone like my social psych teacher, Doc Ramsey.

I know it’s a little mental, but my mom’s so secretive about who my father is that I have to come up with crazy alternative realities.

I told Kori about my Doc Ramsey Paternity Theory, because, well, if Kori and I really were twins separated at conception, he would be her real father too, and so she should know. She wasn’t appreciative or surprised.

“It was only a matter of time before you thought that. You need to get over this father fetish shit. What’s so great about them? Just look at mine.”

“Come on, it’s possible, right?”

“Doc doesn’t even look like us.”

She was too sweet to point out that I only looked like “us” because I dyed my hair black and got a straightening iron for Christmas. With my icy blue eyes and widow’s peak, I also bear a striking resemblance to a Siberian husky.