by Betsy Haynes
I sighed. I hated it when she was crabby like this. It was bad enough that my father acted as if I didn't exist and spent all his time with my twin. But when Mom was in one of her moods, she didn't know I existed either. It was as if I were all alone in the world. I looked at my twin. I couldn't help wishing I could talk to her through the mirror.
I'd ask her about my father, I thought. I bet he's a whole lot easier to live with than Mom is. I bet he's never crabby, or if he is, he doesn't take things out on her. After all, it's not my fault Mom and Pink aren't getting along. I couldn't help envying my twin just a little for having it so much better than I did. I thought about that for a minute. What if my father has a lot of money and they live in a mansion with a swimming pool? What if he takes her to Europe and Hollywood all the time and introduces her to movie stars? Or rock stars? What if she has a horse! I wondered what it would be like to trade places with her for a while.
Mom didn't say much while we fixed hamburgers and french fries for supper. She didn't say much while we ate, either, except once when the phone rang.
"Jana, get that, will you?" she said. "And if it's Wallace Pinkerton, tell him I'm not in."
I thought about all the times she told me never to lie and say I'm not in when it was someone I didn't want to talk to, but I kept my mouth shut. Thank goodness it was a wrong number.
After the dishes were done, I went back to my room to work on my exposé of Taffy Sinclair. I sighed and stared at the blank sheet of paper some more. I tried to feel as mad at Taffy as I had felt that afternoon. The only problem was, I couldn't. It wasn't that I had suddenly started to like Taffy Sinclair. It was just that I couldn't help thinking about my twin and how lucky she was.
Then I got this great idea. What if I told my father that I knew about my twin? Maybe he would let her come for a visit sometime. Maybe he would even let me trade places with her for a little while.
The more I thought about my great idea, the better it sounded. It was only Wednesday night. The Sentinel deadline wasn't until Friday, so I didn't have to work on my exposé until tomorrow night. Getting even with Taffy was important, but finding out about my twin could change my life. The problem was, how was I going to do it?
I sat there thinking for quite a while, and when the answer came to me, it was so simple that I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before. I remembered how Cynthia on Interns and Lovers had tried and tried to contact her father all these years just the same way I had. It hadn't worked for her and it hadn't worked for me. But when Cynthia wrote a deathbed letter, she got results. Even though I wasn't on my deathbed, I decided to try the same tactic. I was sure my father would forgive me as soon as he realized how important it was for me to know about my twin.
I took out a sheet of stationery. Dear Father, I wrote. I tried to make my handwriting a little bit squiggly so he would think I was almost too weak to hold my pen.
I am writing this letter from my deathbed . . .
CHAPTER TEN
On the way to school the next morning I wondered if it was still too soon to tell my friends about my twin. I was dying to see how they would take the news. Would they be jealous? After all, having an identical twin was a pretty big thing, especially since everybody thought I was an only child. Even Taffy Sinclair couldn't top a thing like that.
I dropped the letter to my father into the corner mailbox, thinking that I should probably wait until I knew more about my twin before I said anything. I knew my friends would ask a million questions. I could see it all now. As soon as the word got out, kids would crowd around me. They would have so many questions that I would have to ask them to raise their hands. Then I would point to the kid whose question I wanted to answer next just like the President does when he has a news conference. Right now I wasn't ready for that.
Which was just as well, because nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to me when I got to school. At first I didn't even see my friends. Then I noticed a group of ten or twelve girls over by the bicycle racks. They were all talking excitedly, and right in the middle were my best friends. I couldn't help feeling a little bit funny since I had just been imagining everyone crowded around me. I wondered what was going on. I couldn't tell until I heard somebody say, "Gosh, Melanie. You look great. How much weight have you lost?"
There in the middle of that crowd stood Melanie, and I have to admit she did look great. She had on new designer jeans that must have been at least two sizes smaller than her usual size, and a gorgeous white blouse with lace panels up each sleeve. You could tell she was really pleased with herself, too, from the grin on her face.
"As of this morning, twelve pounds and counting," she said with a little laugh.
Twelve pounds and counting, I thought grimly. She might look good now, but before she knew it, she would be just skin and bones, a tiny frail bird. I sighed. I was the only one who knew the truth: Melanie was anorexic. I would have to go into action to save her.
I ducked around the corner of the building, dashed in the side door and skidded to a stop at the candy machine. I dug into my jeans pocket and came up with three quarters, two dimes, and two nickels. It was every cent I owned, but it would buy three candy bars. I didn't know if that would be enough to save Melanie, but I had to try.
"Don't you know that all that candy will give you cavities?"
My heart stopped. It was Randy Kirwan. I hadn't even heard him come up behind me. Now he probably thought I was a pig for buying so much candy. I was so embarrassed I thought I'd die.
By the time I looked up, he was already halfway down the hall, but he was looking back over his shoulder and smiling. I thought about running after him and explaining that they weren't really for me, but Radar Rollins rounded the corner, and I decided to stay where I was. Maybe I could explain things to Randy later. I closed my eyes, imagining.
"Oh, Randy," I would say. "I really appreciate your being concerned about my teeth, but the candy was for someone else."
"That's wonderful, Jana. It's just that I'm so crazy about you that I couldn't stand to think of you in pain, getting your teeth filled."
Suddenly I opened my eyes. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Randy didn't think I was a pig. He just didn't want me to be in pain. Hadn't I noticed how much attention he was paying to me lately? Hadn't I been absolutely certain that he was beginning to be crazy about me? How much more proof did I need?
I felt as if everything had suddenly started going my way, and I had a hard time thinking about anything else all morning in class. Randy Kirwan had proved just how much he cared for me. I was probably going to save my friend Melanie from dying of anorexia. I was going to write an exposé of Taffy Sinclair so everyone would see her for what she really was. And I was going to find out all about my twin and maybe even trade places with her for a while.
I was still feeling pretty good when I got to the cafeteria for lunch. I was planning to sit next to Melanie and dump all three candy bars into her lunch bag when she wasn't looking. With her sweet tooth she'd never be able to resist. But she outmaneuvered me the moment I sat down, by jumping up and moving to the other side of the table between Christie and Beth.
"I think Scott Daly likes me," she said confidentially. "I want to sit over here where I can see him."
"Scott Daly?" asked Katie. She looked so surprised that she almost dropped her sandwich. "What makes you think he likes you?"
"He's been borrowing things all morning. First a pencil. Then paper—twice. He's never done that before. I think he noticed that I've lost weight."
"Gosh, maybe I'll go on a diet if it will make somebody as cute as Scott Daly notice me," said Christie, which was pretty funny, since she's the thinnest one of us all.
Melanie only giggled and took a teensy bite out of her apple.
"You really do look great," said Beth. "Why don't you try out for a part on a soap opera and give Taffy Sinclair a little competition?"
Melanie remained silent. You could tell she was thinking the idea over.
Then she shook her head. "I wouldn't want to miss school three days every week. That would leave only two days for me to see Scott."
Good grief, I thought. All I need is for Melanie to get a boyfriend. I'd never be able to save her. I hadn't been able to slip the candy bars into her lunch bag, but I decided it wouldn't have done any good anyway, since she was so busy watching Scott Daly that she didn't touch her hard-boiled egg and just nibbled on her apple. Of course, I wouldn't let the candy bars go to waste while I thought up another way to save her.
Christie asked me to come to her house to watch Interns and Lovers after school, but I made the excuse that I had to get home because Mom had left me a long list of jobs to do, and after that I had to work on my exposé of Taffy Sinclair. Actually I just wanted to be by myself when Cynthia started talking about her twin again. I might even want to take notes.
As soon as the show came on, I was sorry I hadn't gone to Christie's. In the very first scene Taffy Sinclair was sitting up in bed with about a half dozen doctors and nurses looking down at her. Poor Cynthia wasn't even in sight. This time Taffy had on a lavender nightgown with a white lace collar. Also, it looked like she was wearing false eyelashes and she had the most icky sweet grin on her face that I had ever seen.
"Thank you all for coming to my room," she said in a fake southern accent. I couldn't believe my ears. Not only was she saying lines, but she was using the most horrible fake southern accent in the world. "And thank you all especially for takin' such good care of me."
I couldn't listen. I covered my ears with my hands, but I could still see her on the screen, grinning her icky sweet grin and batting her eyelashes and talking in her accent. It was so awful I thought I'd die.
I stood it as long as I could. Then I jumped up and raced to my room. I didn't even care if I missed seeing Cynthia. I sat down at my desk and grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and a pencil. Across the top I wrote: THE TRUTH ABOUT TAFFY SINCLAIR. Everything that she had ever done came pouring out of my mind and onto that paper. I must have scribbled as hard as I could for twenty minutes. When I was finished, I was panting as if I had just run a race, but I knew I had written a super exposé. Now everybody would see Taffy Sinclair for what she really was.
I could hear the television going in the living room. I had been in such a hurry that I hadn't even turned it off. I looked at my watch. To Have and to Hold would just be coming on. What was happening in poor Samantha's life? Was Michael still sneaking around with Terri? I went into the living room and switched the channel. There was Samantha and Michael, and it looked as if they were having a very serious talk.
"Samantha, honey, what do I have to do to convince you that there is nothing going on between Terri and me? I'm just nice to her because she's your best friend."
"I really want to believe you, Michael. It's just that—" Michael took her in his arms before she could say any more and kissed her. The rat! You could tell Samantha wanted to believe him.
"Then do believe me. You're making a big deal over nothing. Terri doesn't mean a thing to me."
They kissed again. Samantha was really convinced now. How could she be so stupid? The commercials came on, and I went to the kitchen for a can of soda. When I got back, Michael was in his sports car driving along a moonlit beach road. I knew where he was going—for another rendezvous with Terri on the beach! Sure enough, he parked his car and started walking toward the water. An instant later Terri stepped out of the shadows. They ran toward each other as the show ended for the day.
I turned off the television. I had had enough for one day. Still, I couldn't get Samantha out of my mind. She was so crazy about Michael that she would believe anything he said. I felt sorry for her. It was obvious that she was going to get hurt.
I was still sitting on the sofa with my empty soda can when Mom came home. "Hi, love," she chirped as she took off her coat and hung it in the hall closet. "How was your day?"
Mom was actually in a good mood. I couldn't believe it. "Fine," I said. "How was yours?"
"Great!" Mom went into the kitchen, and I could hear her humming as she started supper. Minutes went by, and she didn't even yell at me to come in and help. I was beginning to think she had come down with something when I smelled it—Mom's homemade spaghetti sauce! Every summer she freezes some and saves it for special occasions. She calls those occasions Celebration Suppers.
"Yahoo!" I shouted as I hopped into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon for a quick taste. "Celebration Supper! What happened? Did you get a raise?"
"Better than that," she said. She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. Grinning, she got out these special tongs and began pulling spaghetti out of the colander and piling it onto our plates. My mouth was watering like crazy. "I'm sorry I've been in such a bad mood lately," she went on. "I shouldn't have taken my problems with Pink out on you."
"That's okay, Mom," I said,, feeling a little guilty about some of the thoughts I'd had. I looked down quickly, watching her ladle sauce onto the spaghetti as if it were the most fascinating event of my life. For a reason I couldn't explain, I was also feeling a little suspicious.
"Well, everything is going to be okay from now on." Mom paused a minute, looking thoughtful. Then she motioned for me to sit down at the table. "I was disturbed because I thought Pink was paying too much attention to a woman at the bowling alley. Thank goodness I finally decided to talk to him about it. And do you know what? He convinced me that I was making a big deal over nothing!"
A big deal over nothing. Those words were ringing in my ears. Now I understood why I was feeling suspicious. That was the same thing Michael told Samantha, and she believed him, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Friday afternoon, after I left my exposé of Taffy Sinclair in Mr. Cagney's box in the office, I ducked out on my friends and hurried home to watch my soaps in private. Taffy had been in school so I knew she wouldn't be on Interns and Lovers. I was glad, because I was desperate to know more about Cynthia and her twin. What would happen next? Would they get together? Also, for Melanie's sake, I needed to know if Cynthia was still getting worse or if she had finally decided to eat. And Chad. I hadn't seen him in two whole days.
I turned on the set and settled down on the sofa, thinking about how familiar the show's theme music was beginning to sound. That wasn't all that was familiar. I had only been watching one week, and already I knew more about the people on it and their problems than I did about anyone else in the whole world, even my best friends. It was as if they had all told me their secrets. The exception was Taffy Sinclair. I didn't feel close to her at all. She was just a fake. But the others weren't fakes. Not Cynthia. Not Chad. Not even Cynthia's twin.
Samantha and Michael weren't fakes either, and they were helping me to understand about Mom and Pink. Pink had certainly fooled me as much as he had fooled Mom. But now I knew what kind of jerk he was and that he would break Mom's heart if I didn't find some way to stop him.
When the commercials finally ended and the opening scene of Interns and Lovers came on the screen, there was a young woman sitting on a sofa reading a book. She had dark hair just like Cynthia's. In fact, she looked exactly like Cynthia except she didn't have dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks weren't sunken in. I knew who she was—Cynthia's twin.
I was staring at her so hard and my heart was pounding so loudly that I almost didn't notice when a man entered the room and began speaking.
"Stephanie, may I interrupt your reading, dear? There is something that I really must talk to you about."
Stephanie. Cynthia's twin was named Stephanie! I moved to the floor right in front of the television set and turned the volume up so that I wouldn't miss a thing.
"Sure, Dad. What is it?"
The man was holding a piece of paper in his hand. Cynthia's letter, I thought. He sat down beside Stephanie on the sofa. You could tell by the serious look on his face that he was carefully thinking over what he was going to say. "Stephanie, dear, in a city not far from here is so
meone I must tell you about. For many years I have thought it best to keep her existence a secret from you, but I now know that has been a mistake."
Stephanie looked puzzled, but she didn't say anything. Her father had stopped talking, too. I was getting really antsy. "Go ahead and tell her," I muttered.
He looked her straight in the eye, but still he didn't speak. I was about to go berserk when finally he said, "Stephanie, you have an identical twin sister."
"What?" she gasped. "An identical twin sister? I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Then her father told her all about the divorce and how he and her mother had each decided to keep a twin and not tell her about the other one.
"At the time we thought it was the right thing to do," he said. "But a few days ago I received this letter from your sister and learned that she is gravely ill. In fact, she's going to die. So this morning I wrote to her and told her about you."
He had tears in his eyes as he handed Cynthia's letter to Stephanie to read. When she looked up again, she had tears in her eyes, too, and I felt a lump the size of a tennis ball form in my throat.
"I have a twin, and her name is Cynthia," she said as if she couldn't believe the words herself. She jumped to her feet. "I must go to her," she said. "I must leave right now and go to her bedside to be with her when she dies!"
I was crying so hard that I could hardly see the television screen, but it didn't matter because the program was over for the day. All I could think about was Stephanie and how glad she was to know she had a twin. She was even going to go to her and be with her when she died.
I thought about my own twin and the letter I had written to my father. Would he tell her about me the way Stephanie's father had told her about Cynthia? How would she feel? Would she want to be with me when I died? The thought made me shivery, especially since my letter had been a teensy little lie. Still, it would all be worth it if I got to see my twin.
