by Marilyn Kaye
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"We've got to find her first," Jenna said. "Which might not be so easy, when you think about her gift."
"Which is?" Amanda asked eagerly.
But now Jenna was distracted by a group down at the other end of the mall, in front of Target. "Want to meet some of my friends?" she asked Amanda.
"Not particularly," Amanda replied, but Jenna took off, and Amanda had no option but to follow her. As they got closer to the group, she began to have serious misgivings. Jenna's friends looked like a very creepy bunch.
An older, skinny guy with dyed green hair and a cigarette dangling from his mouth said, "Hiya, Janie."
They couldn't have been great friends if he didn't even know her name, Amanda thought. But Jenna didn't seem dismayed. "Jenna," she corrected him. "Yo, Slug."
Slug? Who had a name like Slug? Amanda couldn't wait to find out what the others were called. The sleazy-looking goth girl in black with blood-red lipstick was called Bubbles, while another girl with a shaved head and tattoos up and down her arms was Skank. Jenna introduced the heavyset guy with the
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half-closed eyes as Harry. Amanda thought they all looked older, at least 18. And they were all extremely ugly.
"This is my friend Am--I mean, Tracey."
Not since this bodysnatching experience had begun had Amanda felt so grateful to look like Tracey. She'd absolutely die if anyone saw her real self with people like this.
"What are you up to?" Jenna asked them.
"Gonna hit Target," Slug said, nodding toward the store. "You ever seen one of these?" From his pocket he pulled out an oddly shaped metal gadget.
"What is it, some kind of weapon?" Jenna asked.
Slug made a snorting sound, which Amanda guessed was his version of a laugh. "Nah. You know those plastic things they stick on stuff so you can't steal it?" He was looking at Amanda now, so she felt obliged to answer.
"It's a security device. The cashier takes it off after you pay for something. Otherwise it sets off an alarm when you leave the store."
"Yeah, right. Well, this handy little number takes that plastic thing off. You can walk right out with
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half the store in your pocket."
"You'd have to have pretty deep pockets," Jenna said, and Amanda couldn't help laughing, but no one else got the joke.
"I only got two of these things," Slug continued, "but we'll pass 'em around. Then afterward we'll split the stash. I'm going in to check out the place first, see where the good stuff is. I'll be right back." Sticking the gadget back in his pocket, Slug strolled into the store.
Amanda turned to Jenna. "They're going to steal things?"
"Yeah," Jenna replied, in a voice that was just a little bit too cocky. "You have a problem with that?"
"Well, it's against the law, for one thing."
That comment got the rest of Jenna's friends laughing, and Amanda could feel Tracey's face turning red. "Well, you can leave me out," she said.
"Chicken?" Jenna taunted.
Amanda couldn't care less if Jenna thought she was a coward. What worried her was the idea that this enterprise could end any kind of collaboration between them.
"There's Slug," Bubbles said. He was just outside
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Target's door, and he beckoned them closer. Bubbles, Skank, and Harry started toward him, but Jenna hung back for a moment.
"You sure you're not up for this?" she asked Amanda.
Before Amanda could reply, she heard another familiar voice behind her.
"Hi, guys! What are you doing?"
It was Emily, from their gifted class. She was alone and carrying a bag from the bookstore.
"Just messing around," Jenna said.
Emily smiled vaguely. "I didn't know you two hung out together."
Amanda wanted to correct that assumption, but she held her tongue. "What did you buy?" she asked instead.
Emily reached into her bag and pulled out a book. Jenna read the title out loud. "I Was Marie Antoinette!'
"She was the last queen of France," Emily told them. "Her head was cut off during the French Revolution."
Jenna snickered. "Who wrote the book? Her ghost?"
"No, a woman named Lavinia Pushnik. She claims
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that she was Marie Antoinette in an earlier life."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "You don't believe that stuff, do you?"
Emily shrugged. "I see the future. Maybe she sees the past."
Now it was Jenna's turn to do some eye rolling. "Emily, anyone can see the past. It's called history. You can read about it in books."
"Mmm." Emily seemed to have stopped listening. Her eyes were glazed over.
"Are you seeing something in the future now?" Amanda asked.
Emily nodded. "Someone who's just about to win the lottery."
"Oh yeah?" Now Jenna looked interested. "My mother plays the lottery every week."
"Someone in Canada," Emily murmured. "Toronto ... no, Montreal."
Jenna's face fell. "Oh. Well, I have to get into Target before all the good stuff is gone."
"What do you mean?" Emily asked.
"Jenna and her buddies are about to do some shoplifting," Amanda told her.
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Emily's expression changed. "Don't do it, Jenna."
Jenna groaned. "Oh, great! Another goody-goody who's afraid to break the law."
Emily shook her head. "Your friends ... they're going to get caught."
"You see that?" Amanda asked. "For real?"
Emily nodded.
Jenna looked skeptical. "You're just saying that so I won't steal anything."
"No," Emily said. "It's going to happen."
"I'd better warn them." Jenna started toward the store.
"No!" Emily cried out. "You'll get caught, too. It's just about to happen."
Jenna hesitated, and that was a good thing. Because only seconds later, a uniformed guard emerged with Jenna's pals, all in handcuffs. They disappeared behind a door marked Security.
"Wow," Amanda said in awe. "How did you know?"
"That's my gift," Emily said, but she didn't sound particularly proud of it. "I see things. Only I never know what to do about them."
"Well, thanks for telling me about that," Jenna
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said. "I would have had a one-way ticket back to reform school."
"I'm glad I helped you," Emily said, but now her voice was sad. "I don't get to help people much, mostly because my visions aren't usually very clear. And then--well, it's like Madame says, who's going to believe me? They'll just think I'm nuts."
Amanda knew that if she wanted everyone to believe that she was Tracey, she should keep her mouth shut. But she couldn't resist a question. "Could you always do this? See the future?"
"When I was five, I had my first vision. My father was leaving the house to go to work. And I saw that when he got to the end of the driveway, another car was going to come around the corner really fast and hit him hard. But I didn't tell him."
"Did it happen?" Amanda asked.
Emily nodded. "He was killed. Don't you remember? I told this story in class."
"I, uh, must have been out that day," Amanda said. Emily's story was awful, really depressing, and Amanda wanted to change the subject. Luckily, she spotted someone in the mall whom they might find
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interesting. "Isn't that the new student teacher?"
Just as they all turned to look at her, the young woman saw them. She waved and started toward them.
"Oh, great! A teacher," Jenna groaned.
But the young woman seemed very happy to see them. "Hi, girls! What a coincidence, running into you here!"
Emily said, "Hello, Miss ... uh ..."
"Serena," the teacher prompted. "This is so cool! What are you up to?"
Personally, Amanda thought she was overdoing the "I'm-your-buddy-not-your-teacher" thing. Jenna also looked doubtful. But Emily seemed
intrigued.
"We're just hanging out," she said.
"I am so excited about this job!" Serena told them.
Jenna's eyebrows went up. "Really? Why?"
"Well, it's not just student teaching, is it? I mean, you are really different."
Jenna still looked wary. "What do you mean, 'different'?"
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"It's okay," Serena assured her. "I know that you guys are, you know, special. And I really want to know you. As friends, not students."
"But that's what we are," Emily said. "Students."
Serena tossed her head back and laughed, as if Emily had said something uproariously funny. "Really, guys, I'm not like your other teachers. Madame, she's very nice and all that, but she's old. It's not like you can confide in her. I want you to think of me as someone you can really talk to. You can tell me your secrets, your feelings."
"Madame doesn't like us to talk about ourselves to others too much," Emily said.
Serena nodded. "Yeah, that's kind of sad, isn't it? It must be sort of lonely for you guys, not being able to talk about what's important to you."
Emily nodded fervently. "It is."
Serena was awfully eager, Amanda thought. Why would anyone want to tell their secrets to someone they'd just met? The woman was so pushy; it was making Amanda feel uncomfortable.
Jenna seemed to be having a similar reaction. "I'm out of here," she announced and then took off.
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"I have to go, too, Miss--uh, I mean, Serena," Amanda said. "Bye, Emily."
She hurried after Jenna and caught up with her. "Wait! You still haven't told me."
"Told you what?" Jenna asked.
"About Tracey. About her gift."
"You still haven't figured it out?"
"No."
Jenna grinned. "Tracey can disappear."
Walking home, Jenna was in pretty good spirits for a change. It hadn't been a bad day--not bad at all. In her mind, she kept seeing the look on the face of Amanda-Tracey when she'd told her she'd figured out who she was. Of course, it would have been more fun to see that stunned expression on the real face of that conceited Amanda Beeson, but this was the next best thing--knowing she'd freaked out the snottiest girl at Meadowbrook. And that incident at the mall had been pretty cool, too.
She didn't like Slug and Skank and the rest of them, even though she'd called them her "crew" when she talked to Mr. Gonzalez and she'd told
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Amanda that they were her friends. Actually, she thought they were a bunch of miserable lowlifes. They didn't do anything real, like go to school or work. They just hung around all day, begging on street corners or picking pockets or shoplifting. They were filthy and not too intelligent, though she had to admit that she liked Bubbles's goth look, which was an extreme version of her own.
They didn't really live anywhere, though sometimes they'd squat in an abandoned house or apartment until someone moved in or the police threw them out. Lots of times they slept on the benches in the train station, and that's how Jenna knew them. There were times when she also hung around the train station, when she couldn't bear to go home.
But she probably would have gone into Target with them if Emily hadn't come along and predicted what was going to happen. Like the rest of the kids in the class, Emily didn't have a whole lot of control over her gift, so Jenna had truly lucked out.
A light rain began to fall, but that wasn't what suddenly dampened her spirits. She'd turned onto
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the street where she lived.
The three tall brick apartment buildings took up the whole street. Brookside Towers, they were called, which was a joke--there was no brook alongside the structures, and "Towers" made them sound like castles or something. In reality, Brookside Towers was public housing, packed with all kinds of people who had only one thing in common--not much money.
Jenna suspected that the buildings had been ugly when they were built, and they were even uglier now, covered with graffiti and gang symbols. There were a lot of cracked windows, and cardboard had replaced the glass in some of them. The surrounding grounds weren't exactly gardens: any grass that might be there was covered with junk--trash bags, an old refrigerator, a broken bicycle.
There were some good people at Brookside Towers. Jenna thought of Mrs. Wong down the hall, who had put up window boxes full of geraniums. Then some nasty boys had managed to climb up to her window and destroy them. Mrs. Wong had cried ...
No, Brookside Towers wasn't a very nice place to
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live. Sometimes, when her mother was sober and feeling optimistic, she'd make promises to Jenna.
"No matter how broke I am, I'm going to buy a lottery ticket every week. And one of these days, baby, our ship will come in, and I'll buy us a nice house in a nice neighborhood. If I keep buying tickets, I've got to win sooner or later, right? I mean, it's like that law of averages, or whatever it's called." Jenna never bothered to tell her mother that she was wrong, that the law of averages meant that it was highly unlikely she'd ever win at all.
Jenna didn't despise her mother. She was just a poor, weak woman whose husband--Jenna's father--had walked out on her when she'd gotten pregnant. And she could feel better about herself only by getting drunk or high. She wasn't hateful-- just very, very sad.
Jenna thought you could feel the sadness when you walked into the apartment, even when her mother wasn't home, like now. She took advantage of her mother's absence to pick up the empty bottles, sweep the floors, and wash the dirty dishes in the sink. Hunting in a cabinet, she found ajar of peanut
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butter and some stale crackers to spread it on.
The cable bill hadn't been paid, so the TV was worthless. With nothing else to do, she got out her homework. She had a lot of reading to do, but that was okay. Jenna liked to read.
Of course, she couldn't tell anyone that. It was too bad for her image ...
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Chapter Nine
AT FIRST, AMANDA DIDN'T think it sounded so bad, and on the way home she contemplated this piece of news. So, Tracey could turn invisible. That explained why she seemed to be absent a lot and why Madame kept saying it was nice to see her. And maybe that also explained why Tracey looked blurry in her mirror reflection and fuzzy in photographs.
Now, the question was, what could Amanda do with this knowledge? This gift opened up a whole new range of possibilities.
What if she just disappeared and took off until all this was over? Maybe she could sneak onto an airplane, go to an exotic vacation place, and He on the beach doing nothing. Could invisible people get a tan?
She could stay in the fanciest hotels without paying. She wondered what happened when an invisible
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person ate--did the food just disappear? Or could you see it digesting in an invisible stomach? That would be pretty gross.
Or she could hang around some famous people, like actors or rock stars, and see what they were really like. Or even just go to her very own house and see what her other self was up to ...
But ultimately, she had to remember the sad truth of the matter. These gifted kids--they couldn't control their gifts. Dead people seemed to speak to Ken whether he wanted them to or not, and Emily's visions of the future weren't always clear. For Tracey, disappearing probably just happened--she couldn't just snap her fingers and disappear.
So Amanda went back to Tracey's house and spent another yucky Tracey-style evening. At dinner, she pushed the food around her plate while each of the Devon Seven were asked about their day and the parents exclaimed how adorable they were. No one noticed that Tracey wasn't even eating.
After dinner, she went to Tracey's room, where she did some homework and read a book that she'd brought home from the school library. And
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then she remembered Tracey's diary. Maybe Tracey had gone on some interesting adventures while she was invisible.
Amanda retrieved the notebook and opened
it at random.
"Dear Diary, Everybody thinks the Devon Seven are so cute. I'm not cute."
That was certainly true, Amanda thought. She turned a few more pages.
"Dear Diary, My little sisters turned three today. They're getting bigger. I feel as if I'm getting smaller."
Now that sounded interesting, Amanda thought. Was this when she started disappearing? She turned a page.
"Dear Diary, Mom and Dad don't look at me anymore. They see only the Seven. I might as well be invisible."
So it definitely was the septuplets that Tracey had written about when she wrote "Sometimes I hate them." Amanda couldn't blame her. They took all the attention away from Tracey. But now Tracey was about to become invisible, which should make up for it all.
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Eagerly, Amanda turned to the next page.
"Dear Diary, Sometimes I think I'd like to get a haircut. And some new clothes. But what's the point? Nobody would notice. Nobody sees me now. I'm nothing."
Amanda was infuriated. Without even bothering to shut the notebook, she tossed it across the room. So Tracey felt sorry for herself. In all fairness, Amanda knew she was probably entitled to a little self-pity. But Amanda certainly didn't want to have to read about it.
At least Tracey was starting to make sense. From the photos she'd seen, Amanda knew Tracey must have been the center of her parents' life when she was born, as most babies were. But once the seven girls were born, she grew less and less important in her parents' eyes. She must have felt that. And if you felt like nothing at home, you'd feel like nothing at school, too. It wasn't just shyness that made Tracey disappear-- Tracey faded away from lack of attention. And all because of those wretched little septuplets.
Later, lying in Tracey's bed, Amanda thought about her own home, her own parents. Being an only
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child, she always complained that her mother and father made too much of a fuss over her, watched her too closely, and wanted to know everything about her. She was a star at home, which was nice, but it could also get a little tiresome--there was such a thing as too much attention. Surely there had to be a happy medium between what she had and what Tracey had.
The next day, Friday, started off as a typical Tracey day. The bus doors closed in her face and she had to walk to school. That made her late arriving at homeroom for roll call, but no one even noticed.
