I'm Not Who You Think I Am

by Peg Kehret

  After finishing the project for her grandparents, she had never erased those tapes or used them over again. She thought they were still in the back of her closet, along with her menu collection and the shoe box full of old valentines. If so, she just might have some footage that would help Mr. Wren.

  “I have a history paper to write,” Laura said. “I’ll be in Mom’s office, using the computer.”

  Ginger put the piano rolls away and closed the piano. Then she searched through everything on the floor of her bedroom closet. She found the videotapes in a plastic grocery bag, under her tennis racket.

  She pulled a video out of the bag and looked at the Post-it note that was stuck on it. Girls’ basketball practice, Nov. 21. Ginger stuck the video in the VCR and punched the Play button.

  Two minutes into the film, it showed Mr. Wren teaching his players a drill to improve their layup shots and their rebounding skills. He also explained the proper way to shoot a free throw.

  Ginger’s excitement grew. This was the proof that Mr. Wren needed.

  There were two more tapes. Ginger fast-forwarded through the parts where the girls actually played basketball and watched anything where Mr. Wren talked to the team. All of the tapes showed Mr. Wren teaching his players to play better basketball.

  At the end of the third tape, she turned off the VCR, knowing she had a huge decision to make.

  She could keep her tapes to herself—and take a chance that Mr. Wren would lose his coaching job. Or she could turn the tapes over to the school board—and take a chance that Laura would not have enough money to stay in college.

  Be loyal to her favorite teacher—or be loyal to her family.

  She slept fitfully, waking often. Each time she woke, she lay in the dark thinking about Mr. Wren.

  And about the tapes.

  And about the woman who kept following her.

  Once she tried telling her subconscious to come up with a solution to her problems while she slept. She had watched a talk show program where the guest claimed that anytime he needed guidance, or the answer to a question, he simply directed his subconscious to provide it while he slept, and when he woke up he always had the answer, and knew what he should do.

  It didn’t work for Ginger. When her alarm went off the next morning she was just as confused and upset as she had been when she went to bed.

  She lay there awhile considering her options. Without meaning to, she dozed off. She awoke with a start half an hour later and had to rush through breakfast. She didn’t even have time to pack a lunch; she would have to buy a cafeteria lunch.

  She hurried to the bus stop. Usually Eric Konen caught the bus at Ginger’s corner, but that morning Eric wasn’t there. Ginger looked at her watch, wondering if she had missed the bus. No, she still had four minutes to spare.

  While she waited she took her hairbrush out of her backpack and brushed what was left of her hair. She had skipped her usual shower, and she felt unkempt.

  “Hello, Ginger.”

  The sudden soft voice behind her startled her; Ginger had not heard anyone approach. She whirled around.

  The woman stood a few feet away.

  “Who are you?” Ginger asked.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I was going to talk to you after the meeting last night, but you had left.”

  “There were too many people. Crowds make me nervous.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Will you meet me after school? I have something important to tell you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Not here. This isn’t the place, and there isn’t enough time before your bus comes. Meet me after school, in the parking lot. We’ll go somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”

  “No,” Ginger said.

  “It won’t take long,” the woman said. “If you don’t want to leave the school grounds, we can sit in my car and talk.”

  “I can’t do that,” Ginger said. “I don’t know you.”

  A look of pain shot across the woman’s face. “Oh, but you do,” she whispered. “You do know me; you just don’t remember.”

  Ginger glanced down the street, hoping to see the bus approach. Although she did not feel in any physical danger, the odd conversation and the peculiar look in the woman’s eyes made her uneasy.

  “I don’t know who you are or what you want,” Ginger said, “but if you keep following me, I’m going to call the police.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve been waiting for a chance to speak to you, but you’re hardly ever alone. When you are by yourself you get on the bus before I can talk to you. Please say you’ll meet me after school.”

  “No,” Ginger said. “If you want to tell me something, you had better do it right here and now.”

  The woman looked around, as if fearing that someone was hiding nearby, eavesdropping.

  “The bus will be here any minute,” Ginger said. “Once I get on it, I am not going to talk to you again.”

  “I didn’t plan it this way, standing here on the street. Ever since I saw you in the restaurant on your birthday, and realized who you were, I’ve been planning how to tell you. I wanted to do it in a cozy tearoom, or on a bench in the city rose garden.”

  Tears puddled in the woman’s eyes. “Please meet me after school,” she said. “Please.”

  The woman’s emotion made Ginger even more nervous. She shook her head.

  The yellow school bus turned the corner, two blocks away, and rumbled toward them. Relieved, Ginger stepped toward the curb.

  “Ginger,” the woman said.

  Ginger looked at her.

  “Please listen carefully.” The woman took a deep breath. She clasped and unclasped her hands. Her brown eyes glowed, boring into Ginger’s until Ginger felt hypnotized and unable to turn away. She waited, hearing the bus approach.

  The woman’s words came softly. Sweetly. Proudly.

  “Ginger,” she said, “I am your mother.”

  Chapter

  Ten

  GINGER’S KNEES SHOOK AS she boarded the bus. She walked to her usual seat beside Karie, holding on to the backs of the other seats to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?” Karie asked. “You look pale.”

  Ginger sat down and looked past Karie, out the window. The woman was walking briskly toward the corner. As the bus passed her, Ginger saw the white car, parked just around the corner.

  Karie turned to see what Ginger was watching. “Oh,” Karie said. “That’s her, isn’t it? The woman from your birthday party.”

  Ginger nodded.

  Karie looked closely at Ginger. “Is something wrong?”

  “She talked to me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Ginger said. “When we’re alone.”

  It was lunchtime before Ginger and Karie had a chance to talk. They sat in a corner of the school yard, leaning back against the fence, and Ginger told her friend everything that had happened: how the white car waited in the parking lot after school every day, how she called Ginger’s home but never left her name, and finally, how the woman came to the bus stop and talked to her.

  “Who is she?” Karie asked. “What does she want?”

  Even though there was no one near them, Ginger leaned close to Karie and whispered, “She said she’s my mother.”

  “What?” Karie cried. “She must be crazy. Why would she say that?”

  “The bus came right after she told me, so I didn’t ask any questions.”

  “Well, we know she’s wrong.”

  “Do we?”

  Karie’s mouth dropped open, and she frowned at Ginger. “You don’t believe her, do you?”

  “I don’t want to believe her, but I thought about it all morning. Did you ever notice that everyone in my family, except me, is tall? This woman is short, like I am.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I’m so different from Mom and Dad, and Laura. They don’t care a
t all about sports. Mom and Laura love fancy parties; I hate getting dressed up. I’m not mechanical like Dad, either.”

  “Your mom and dad told us about the day you were born,” Karie said, “about having the flat tire on their way to the hospital.”

  “Maybe they made up a convincing story because they don’t want me to know I’m adopted.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want you to know? It’s an honor to be adopted. If you’re adopted, it means your parents really wanted you and didn’t just get stuck with you.”

  Ginger said, “Her hair is reddish brown, like mine. Tipper and Laura both have Mom’s dark hair.”

  “That’s true. You don’t look like the rest of your family.”

  “I’ve always been the one who is different. When we have family votes, it’s usually four to one.”

  “If you think for one second that this woman is telling you the truth,” Karie said, “you had better call your parents right now. Tell them what has happened and ask if it’s true. If it is, they’ll explain, and they’ll tell you what to do if she keeps bothering you. If it isn’t true, you can tell the woman to bug off.”

  If it’s true, Ginger thought, I’m not sure I want to know. There must be some reason why they hid the truth from me. Maybe there’s something terrible in my background. Maybe my father was a murderer.

  She did not confide her worries to Karie. She said, “If I called Mom and Dad about this, they would hop on the first plane for home, and I don’t want that. Dad looked forward to this conference for months, and Mom’s customer needs help with her daughter’s wedding. This can wait until they get home.”

  “When will they be back?” Karie asked.

  “Mom arrives Sunday morning; Dad gets home Sunday night.”

  “That’s three days from now,” Karie said. “I don’t think you should wait three days before you tell someone. Maybe you should tell Mr. Wren, or the school counselor.”

  Ginger shook her head. “They would call Mom and Dad.”

  “We could tell my parents,” Karie said, “but they would call your mom and dad, too.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone but you.”

  “You can’t just pretend this hasn’t happened. You have to do something.”

  “I will as soon as Mom and Dad get home.”

  “What if she keeps following you and watching you?”

  “She’s already done that for four days, and it hasn’t hurt anything. She was just waiting for a chance to talk to me when there wasn’t anyone else around.”

  “What if she tries to kidnap you?” Karie said. “If she thinks she’s your mother, she might want you to go and live with her.”

  Ginger hadn’t thought of that possibility. She shuddered. “She isn’t big enough to force me to go with her,” Ginger said.

  “She could get a gun,” Karie said.

  Then, seeing the look of horror on Ginger’s face, Karie added, “She probably won’t do that. She’s probably just a nutsy lady who has you mixed up with someone else.”

  The bell rang, announcing the end of lunch period. Ginger and Karie had no afternoon classes together, so they went separate ways when they got inside the building.

  Beth Sumner was in Ginger’s first afternoon class. “It doesn’t look good for Mr. Wren,” Beth said. “My mom called all the parents whose kids are on the basketball team, and a lot of them refused to take sides in the matter. Mom says there are too many parents who have business connections with the Vaughns. One man even said, ‘It’s a choice of the coach’s job or my job, and I have to look out for my family.’ Of the parents who didn’t already speak at the first hearing, the only one who agreed to talk in favor of Mr. Wren was Mr. Randolph, Nancy’s dad.”

  “If he does,” Ginger said, “he’s probably going to lose his biggest client.” Unless, Ginger added to herself, I hand over my tapes before Mr. Randolph speaks.

  Class started. Ginger tried to concentrate on the history of Mexico, but her mind kept returning to the puzzling encounter at the bus stop. She wondered if she should talk further with the woman. She was certain the woman would be waiting for her in the parking lot. If Ginger wanted to hear more, all she had to do was walk to the woman’s car and listen.

  In spite of Karie’s worry, Ginger did not believe the woman meant to hurt her or force her to do anything that Ginger did not want to do. If she intended to kidnap me, Ginger thought, she would have done it by now.

  I want to find out why she thinks she’s my mother, Ginger thought. Even if the woman is a real nut case, what does it hurt to listen to her story?

  And if—just for the sake of argument, Ginger told herself—if the woman is telling the truth, then I should ask her for medical information.

  The possibility that the woman might really be who she said she was fascinated Ginger in a horrible sort of way. Nothing dramatic had ever happened to Ginger. This was the kind of event that movies were made of. Not that she would ever want such a movie to be made. Even if the woman’s story was true, it wouldn’t change Ginger’s love for Mom and Dad, or for Laura and Tipper.

  Still, it would be the most unusual thing that had ever happened to her or to any of her friends.

  I won’t get in her car, Ginger decided. I’ll just stand there in the parking lot, in full view of the kids who are getting on the bus and the parents who always park and wait to pick up their kids, and listen to what she wants to tell me.

  That will be perfectly safe. One scream and there would be ten people beside me.

  She told Karie what she planned to do.

  “I’ll come with you,” Karie said.

  Ginger shook her head. “I need to talk to her alone.”

  “Then I’ll stand by the door and watch,” Karie said. “If she threatens you, or does anything to scare you, rub your left ear. That will be the signal for me to get help.”

  “You’re making this sound like a dangerous encounter with a criminal, instead of a simple conversation,” Ginger said. “I won’t need to rub my left ear.” She smiled at Karie. “But I will feel less nervous if I know you are watching us. Thanks.”

  When school was out, Ginger and Karie hurried to the main door. Ginger looked across the parking area. “There she is,” she said. “The white car with the yellow ribbon on the antenna.”

  “Don’t take any chances,” Karie said. “If you don’t like what she says, give me the signal. And don’t talk so long that we miss the bus.”

  Ginger nodded. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the car.

  “Good luck,” Karie said.

  As Ginger approached, the woman got out and came to meet her. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “Why did you say that you’re my mother?”

  “Let’s sit in the car to talk.”

  “No. We’ll have to talk here.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Who are you?” Ginger asked. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Joyce Enderly. I had a baby girl—you—thirteen years ago, and I was not able to keep you. Your father was killed in a motorcycle accident before you were born. We weren’t married, and he never knew I was pregnant. I had no relatives to help me, and no way to support a child. I decided the best thing I could do for you was to let you be adopted by a loving family.”

  Joyce Enderly brushed a tear from her cheek. “I released you to an adoption agency, and agreed that I would have no further contact with you. I wasn’t told the names of your adoptive parents. I tried to forget about you and start a new life, but I always wondered how you were and what you looked like. Every year on your birthday, I would go out to eat, to celebrate.”

  “And this year you saw me in the restaurant.”

  “That’s right. I saw you come in and was struck by how much you look like me. I told myself I was imagining things. But then the waiter announced it was your birthday. And I knew. I knew right then who you are.”

  “Lots of babies are born on the same day every year,” Ginger said.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I looked at the people you were with, and I saw that you look much more like me than you look like them. Your brother and sister resemble their mother. But you look like me.”

  “Mom says I look like my grandmother did, when she was my age.”

  “Then they never told you that you’re adopted?”

  “No.”

  “I had hoped they would tell you the truth, right from the start. When I told you that I’m your mother, I thought you would know instantly that it was true. I even imagined that you had been hoping to find me someday.”

  “My parents told me about the day I was born. I came two weeks early, and they had a flat tire on their way to the hospital.”

  Joyce’s eyes flashed angrily. “They are lying,” she said.

  Ginger took a step back.

  “They were not present when you were born. I was. Me! Only me, and the doctor. You were born at Swedish Hospital.”

  Ginger shook her head no. “I was born in Texas,” she said. “My family lived in Houston then.”

  “No!” Joyce clenched and unclenched her fists, as if she wanted to strike something—or someone. “They’re lying about that, too. You were born in Seattle.”

  This woman is weird, Ginger thought. When we started talking, she smiled at me the way Grandma and Grandpa do, all loving and kind, as if I could never possibly do anything wrong. Now she looks furious, as if I am responsible for whatever is wrong in her life.

  “Go home and look in the mirror,” Joyce said. “Then you’ll know who is lying and who is telling the truth. You have lived with them, but you are my flesh and blood.”

  The school buses started their engines. Karie walked partway to the bus and stopped, watching Ginger.

  “I have to go now,” Ginger said, “or I’ll miss my bus.”

  “I can drive you home.”

  “No, thanks. I’m supposed to take the bus.”

  “I’ll wait here for you tomorrow,” Joyce said. “Same time.”

  “Are you coming?” Karie called.