Runaway Twin

by Peg Kehret

  I was glad Starr’s poem had won. I was happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson’s pride in their daughter. But I wasn’t a part of their celebration, or their family. My dream of a permanent home with Starr had been a foolish fantasy.

  I picked up my book and began to read.

  19

  When I went to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, I saw that Starr’s poem was taped to the front of the refrigerator. While I waited for my toast to pop up, I read it. Then I read it a second time. It was a good poem—an excellent poem—but Starr had not written it. I had read it before!

  I tried to remember where I had seen it. A magazine? An English textbook? Surely Starr wouldn’t be so stupid that she would copy a poem from one of her classroom books and enter it in a contest. She must have taken it from some out-of-print book or other source that she thought nobody would remember or find.

  Rita had lots of poetry books and I sometimes browsed through them during the commercials when I was watching television. That’s probably where I’d seen “Lilacs in Summer.”

  I debated what to do. If I said anything to Starr without proof, I was sure she would deny that she had copied the poem. If she was willing to sign an affidavit, swearing that it was her own original work, she wasn’t likely to back down on my say-so, and the Andersons would take her side against me.

  I found a sheet of paper and copied the poem, word for word. I had just finished when Mrs. Anderson came in. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.

  “I’m wondering if you and Starr would like to go into Seattle today,” she said. “We could go to the Pike Place Market or walk along the waterfront.”

  Before I could answer, Starr came into the kitchen. “Count me out,” she said. “Angie and Sarah and I are going to work on our routine for cheerleader tryouts.”

  “They could go with us,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We’ll take the van. There’ll be plenty of time to practice cheer-leading after Sunny leaves.”

  “I really need to go to the library today,” I said. “I thought I’d ride my bike there.” I felt sorry for Mrs. Anderson. She was trying so hard to plan fun outings that would create bonding between sisters, and everyone except her knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  “I can drive you to the library,” Mrs. Anderson said.

  “That’s okay. I need the exercise and I’m not sure how long it will take me. I’m working on a project.”

  I could tell Mrs. Anderson was disappointed, and Starr was relieved. I wondered what she had told her friends about me. Maybe she had not told them anything. I knew she was counting the days until I left. Well, so was I.

  The library didn’t open until eleven, but I went early and walked around a while, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Maybe I should not try to find the published poem. Maybe I should just stay out of it and let Starr fool everyone. Of course, even if I didn’t speak up, she might not get away with her deception. There was always a chance that someone else would recognize the poem. The judges in competitions of this kind must read lots of poetry. If I knew immediately that I’d seen it before, the odds were good that someone else would recognize it, too.

  When the library opened, I went to the computer section, signed up for fifteen minutes online, and did a Google search for “Poem: Lilacs in Summer.” Almost instantly, I got several responses and the second one I clicked was what I was looking for. It showed the whole poem and the author’s name. “Lilacs in Summer” by Lois M. Kringdell. It had been published in 1896.

  I got out the poem I’d copied and compared the two. Starr had not changed a single word. She had made no attempt to make the poem her own but had simply used it, word for word.

  I printed out two copies.

  Since I still had time left on the computer, I decided to check my e-mail to see if there had been any late responses to my ad. When I opened the in-box, there was a message from Rita, dated last Friday, the day I left.

  Dear Sunny,

  Please, please call me. I don’t know what happened to make you leave, but whatever it was, we can fix it. I miss you like crazy and I’m scared that something bad will happen to you. I had hoped you would stay with me permanently, but if you want to live somewhere else, I’ll help you do that as long as you are safe. Please come home! Love always, Rita

  I logged off, then went to the magazine section, picked out some current issues, and found a soft chair. I was in no hurry to return to the Andersons’ house. For one thing, I knew Starr and her friends would not want me there, and who wants to show up when they aren’t welcome?

  Also, I wasn’t yet sure what to do about the poem. I could imagine how Starr’s parents would react if I showed the published poem to them. They had welcomed me warmly and I didn’t want to make them unhappy, no matter how much Starr deserved to get caught.

  I tried to read one of the magazines but finally gave up. I sat in the library, staring at the shelves and wishing I had never found my sister. If I had not come, I could have kept my happy memories all of my life. I would always have thought that somewhere I had a wonderful twin who was exactly like me and who longed for me as much as I yearned for her.

  Now I was stuck with reality. My twin sister not only did not remember me, she didn’t want to know me at all. The fact was, I didn’t like Starr. She was spoiled and self-centered and dishonest. When I left here to go home, I knew I’d never again make any effort to contact her.

  Home. I smiled, thinking of Rita. While I had been traveling all those miles, I’d thought I was coming to find my family. It turned out I’d left my real family behind.

  I put the magazines back. I asked the librarian if there was a public telephone that I could use and she told me where to find one.

  I made a collect call to Rita, hoping she had not already left this morning to go pick up Snickers. I had her cell phone number, too, but she never answered when she was driving because she said it wasn’t safe to talk and drive at the same time.

  Please, I thought. Please, please answer the phone!

  She did.

  “I want to come home right away,” I told her. “That way we could go together to get Snickers. It would be a lot easier for you to manage a dog in the car if I was there, too.”

  “I was planning to leave tomorrow,” she said, “but Charley was flexible. He seems really fond of your dog.” She paused, then added, “I don’t think Snickers is the only reason you want to come back early. Things aren’t going well?”

  “My sister is a total jerk,” I said. “We have nothing in common, and she doesn’t want to get to know me.”

  “Her loss,” said Rita.

  “Mrs. Anderson keeps suggesting fun things for us to do together, but Starr always has an excuse. And you won’t believe what I found out about her. She copied a poem and pretended she wrote it, and entered it in a contest and she won.”

  “Are you sure she copied it?”

  “I’m at the library. I just found it online.”

  “Have you told the Andersons you want to leave?”

  “No. I’m calling from a public phone.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about an earlier flight,” Rita said. “You’ll need to go back to the Andersons’ house so I can reach you to tell you the plans.”

  I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I was so relieved at the thought of not staying with Starr for another five days. “Thanks, Rita,” I said. “I’m sorry I ran off without talking to you about Starr. It was a stupid move.”

  “Hey, we all make mistakes,” she told me. “I’m just glad you’re coming home. And your little dog, too.”

  I laughed. “He isn’t so little,” I said.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  When I got back to the Andersons’ house, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were playing gin rummy.

  “Starr and her friends went to a movie,” Mr. Anderson said. “I can drive you to the theater, if you want. I’m sure you’d be able to find them. Sarah’s mother is driving them home.”

&
nbsp; “No, thanks. I need to talk to you.” I drank some water, took a deep breath, and said, “You’ve both been wonderful to me and I can’t thank you enough for making me feel welcome here. But I realize now that I should have given you some warning. It was hard for Starr to have me just appear when she didn’t even know I existed.”

  “It was a shock,” Mrs. Anderson said.

  “I called Rita from the library,” I told them, “and asked her to see if she can get me on an earlier flight. I’d like to leave as soon as I can. That way I can go with her to pick up Snickers.”

  Even though they both said they wanted me to stay the full week, I could tell they thought it was a good idea for me to leave.

  Ten minutes later, Rita called. Mr. Anderson answered. I heard him say, “Yes, I can take her to the airport. That will work out.” Then he handed me the phone.

  “Hey, Sunny,” Rita said. “How’d you like to take the red-eye special tonight? It leaves Seattle at ten. You’d better say yes, because I already changed your ticket and it cost me a hundred-dollar transfer fee.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  After I hung up, the Andersons seemed at a loss for words.

  “I need to pack,” I said, and I headed for the den.

  I folded my clothes and put them in the new duffel bag. It didn’t take long. When I carried it out and set it by the front door, Mr. Anderson said, “I’m sorry this has not been a happier visit for you. I want you to know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can call us.”

  “Thank you,” I said, although I knew I would not be calling.

  “You could come back,” Mrs. Anderson suggested, “after Starr’s had time to adjust. We wanted to adopt you years ago, and we’d still like to explore that possibility.”

  “Starr’s very lucky to have you for her parents,” I said.

  “We won’t need to leave for the airport until seven tonight,” Mr. Anderson said. “Would you like to go out for a Mexican dinner?”

  “I want to talk to Starr alone,” I said. “There’s something I need to tell her.”

  “Maybe we’ll send out for a pizza then,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We’ll eat at home, and then you girls can have plenty of time to chat.”

  “As soon as I’ve talked to Starr,” I said, “I’d like to leave. I can get something to eat at the airport while I wait for my flight.”

  They looked surprised but didn’t argue.

  The remainder of the afternoon dragged. The Andersons quit playing cards and went outside to do yard work. I tried to read my book, but mostly I wandered around aimlessly.

  Starr called at four to say she was at Sarah’s house and had been invited to stay for dinner.

  “No,” her dad told her. “You need to come home. Sunny is leaving tonight and she wants to see you before she goes.”

  I could tell Starr argued with him, but for once she did not get her way. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes,” Mr. Anderson said. He hung up, got in his car, and drove off.

  When Starr arrived, she gave me a scathing look and said, “So, here I am. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I need to see you alone,” I said. “Let’s go up to your room.”

  She led the way. She sat on her bed and glared at me.

  I reached in my pocket and took out the copy of the poem, the one I’d printed at the library that included the author’s name and the date the poem had been published. I handed it to her and watched as she read it.

  Her face turned pale. “Where did you get this?” she whispered.

  “As soon as I read ‘Lilacs in Summer,’ I knew you hadn’t written it,” I told her. “I’d seen it before. I wasn’t sure where I’d read it, but I knew you weren’t the author. I didn’t want to use the computer here because I didn’t know how long it would take me to find the poem and I didn’t want to be interrupted, so I went to the library. I Googled the title and it popped up instantly.”

  Her hands were shaking so much, the paper rattled. She laid it on the bed.

  “Are you going to show this to my parents?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, I get it. This is blackmail. You keep quiet about the poem and, in return, I pretend it’s okay with me for you to live here.”

  “I ought to be insulted,” I said, “but instead I feel sorry for you.”

  “You feel sorry for me? That’s a joke! You’re the kid nobody wants.”

  “Not anymore. Rita wants me, and your parents want to consider adopting me.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “Ask them.”

  “They wouldn’t adopt you unless I agreed to it, and I’ll never do that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I wouldn’t agree to it, either.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I don’t want your parents to adopt me. I like them a lot, but I want to live with Rita and Snickers.”

  “You’re crazy. You’d choose a foster home and a fleabag mutt over the chance to live here?” She waved one hand around. “What about the clothes and the big allowance?”

  “Not important. Rita and I are going to take tennis lessons, and there’s a trail where I can walk Snickers. I’m happy there.”

  Starr was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You really aren’t going to tell my parents about the poem?”

  “No, but I think you should tell them.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. You don’t know what it’s like to have parents who think you’re perfect. All my life they’ve expected me to be better than I am, to accomplish more than I’m capable of. No matter what I do, they always want more.”

  This is a problem? I thought. Nobody ever expected me to succeed at anything. Then I corrected myself: until Rita. Rita believes in me.

  “They seem very proud of you,” I said.

  “They’re proud of who they want me to be, not who I am.” Tears dribbled down Starr’s cheeks. “You were right when you guessed that I was afraid of you,” she said. “I didn’t want you to stay because I was afraid you’d be smarter than I am and do better in school and in sports. I couldn’t stand the thought of competing with a twin and coming out second.”

  “You’re taking a terrible chance by sending that poem and the affidavit to the regional contest,” I said. “What if one of the judges recognizes the poem? You’ll be publicly humiliated. Think what that would do to your parents. It would be a lot easier if you admitted what you did now instead of getting caught later.”

  “I’ll withdraw the poem,” she said. “I’ll tell the judges I sent it by mistake. That way, Mom and Dad won’t have to know. They’ll just think I didn’t win.”

  I looked at my sister. Even now that her plagiarism had been found out, she wasn’t willing to take responsibility for what she had done. Twinkie, Twinkie, little Starr. How I wonder who you are. I didn’t know the girl who sat in front of me. I no longer wanted to know her.

  “Thanks for not telling on me,” she said.

  “Good-bye, Starr,” I said.

  20

  Rita was waiting at the baggage claim, as we had agreed. I spotted her as I rode down the escalator.

  She opened her arms and I rushed to hug her. Then she held me at arm’s length and said, “What did you do to your hair?”

  “As soon as I shampoo it twenty-two more times, it’ll be back to my natural color.”

  The drive home took nearly two hours, and we never stopped talking. Rita told me she had notified the police about the bag of money I’d found.

  “Did they know who it belongs to?” I asked. “Do I have to give it back?” I hadn’t thought about telling the police.

  “Nobody had reported the loss and the amount didn’t match any robbery, so it’s yours to keep.”

  “Good, because I spent most of it getting to Starr’s house.”

  “I’m in a peck of trouble with Hiss,” Rita said.

  “You told them I was gone?”

  “Well, of course I did. I ha
d to try to find you.”

  “Are they going to let me stay with you?”

  “Yes. When they found out that you had voluntarily called and asked to come back, they agreed that we could try again. We’re on probation for six months, though. If you leave again, they’ll . . .”

  “I’m not leaving again,” I said. “Where would I go?”

  “Who knows? Maybe you are one of triplets and there’s a brother somewhere that I don’t know about and one day you’ll take off, looking for him.”

  “I don’t blame you for being mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you, but I’m disappointed that you didn’t feel you could tell me the truth. I would have helped you find your sister. I would have taken you to meet her.”

  “I know. I wish I’d done that, and I’m glad you’re willing to give me another chance.”

  “I figured if I let you come home, I’d get Snickers, too,” Rita said. “Ever since I arranged to work from home, I’ve wanted to have a dog.”

  “You’re going to love him,” I said.

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “I thought my search for Starr would have a perfect, fairy-tale ending and we’d live happily ever after.”

  “You pursued your dream,” Rita said. “It didn’t turn out the way you had hoped, but now you can go on to other dreams.”

  “Is it too late for us to do the tennis lessons?”

  “No. We can still do them.”

  “I’m going to write about my trip to find Starr,” I told Rita, “and turn it in this fall for extra credit.”

  “That’s a fabulous idea,” Rita said.

  “I thought about it on the plane,” I said. “It might be too long for an essay. I might have to write a whole book.”

  Rita looked shocked.

  “I already know the title and how it starts,” I said. “I’m going to begin by saying my life was transformed by a craving for Twinkies.”