EE's Autobiography 4

I stared at them in disbelief. “I’m adopted?!”

“That’s right, Sweety,” Mom said.

“You’re not my real mom?!”

“Not biologically, no.”

“Then who is?” I asked, dreading the answer.

Mom looked at me thoughtfully before answering. “A girl in New York.”

“Just… a girl?”

“She plans to become a literary agent; she once said something garbled about snark, but I didn’t quite get it.”

I finally began to understand myself that day—the urges I had about books, the attraction and revulsion to large stacks of paper, the laser vision. That was the day I began to become an editor.

How I became Evil is another, though it just might be hereditary, too.

_*Rachel*_