Some response was required. “Thank you for everything, Brooke. I’m very grateful,” I said in subdued tones. To a certain extent I actually was. If only she’d minded her own business . . . but no, that was water over the dam or under the bridge or whatever. The fact was that she’d caught me but was letting me off pretty lightly. So yes, I was grateful. Sort of.
“—but whatever you were thinking of, taking photocopies of those papers—stuff from the school, Mom’s notes, Daddy’s business records, I don’t know,” Brooke was saying. Well, of course she didn’t know. She didn’t have my imagination or my breadth of vision. “What was that about, anyway?”
I looked down again. “Like I said, I got pretty crazy there,” I murmured.
“I guess so. They all looked like copies, so I shredded them instead of trying to put them back.”
She took another deep breath.
“Anyway, I wanted to tell you. Mom and I talked to the judge who is hearing your case, and we pretty much know what’s going to happen next. You’ll be released into the custody of your parents—”
Ugh! I made a face.
“Oh, I was afraid of that!” Brooke was all remorse. I was rather touched. How did she know what a bore it was going to be for me to wind up back in that miserable little house in LA?
“I told Mom that when you said that stuff about your parents—I mean, Janelle’s parents—shutting you up in your room and not giving you anything to eat, you were actually talking about your own parents. You were, weren’t you?”
Once again I escaped catastrophe. Instead of glomming on to this story and riding it until it was dead, I hesitated. Then I said slowly, “Well . . . I might have exaggerated a little bit. But . . . yeah, basically.”
“I knew it! We told the judge that, and she said there would be a social worker coming around on a regular basis. So if they do anything, you have to promise me you’ll tell the social worker. You will, won’t you?” She leaned forward anxiously.
“I guess,” I said. Inspired, I added, “But it’s hard to turn in your own parents that way.”
“Wow, it must be. But there won’t just be the social worker looking out for you. The judge says you’ll be subject to, um . . . court-mandated therapy. But see, that’s good! It will mean somebody to talk to, somebody who can help you figure your life out and where you want to go from here. Don’t you think that will help?”
I was silent for a long moment. Then I raised my eyes to hers.
“You know, I think maybe it will. But you know what would help even more? . . . I hate to ask this but . . .”
“What, Morgan?” she asked gently.
“I know Janelle doesn’t want to hear from me ever again, and I don’t blame her.” Very wise of her. I wouldn’t want to hear from me again either. “But would you mind if I wrote to you sometimes? You wouldn’t have to answer or anything. It would be nice to think of you being out here, and to remember the time I spent with your family.”
“Oh, Morgan, of course I’ll write you back! We’ll be e-mail pen pals. You’ll see; we won’t lose touch at all!”
“Thank you, Brooke,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”
I doubt she noticed until much later the loss of the gold-and-turquoise ring (a gift from the trooper’s son, maybe) that I hooked out of her purse. It was really careless of her to just stuff it into her bag loose like that. I suppose she was going to get it resized. When she did notice, she was sure to blame herself, and rightfully so.
The trooper’s son had good taste. It was a beautiful ring, and it fit my hand perfectly.
AND AFTERWORD . . .
I’ve been back in LA for nearly a month now. It’s not as bad as I’d expected. I’ve grown and learned so much this fall, and people can sense it. They respond to me differently than they did before I went away. I have a lot more confidence and worldly wisdom. The kids at school look at me in a whole new light; I am working my way into the popular crowd since I’ve returned. And my parents are no problem. They watch me like a pair of mice watching the comings and goings of a large cat. I try to go easy on them, since they are providing me with food and shelter, such as it is.
But oh, my dear, dear Mrs. Barnes! How I miss you! I am sorry you think badly of me. And my horseback riding lessons and my private bathroom! Oh well. No sense in sighing for lost pleasures. At least I skipped winter in New York, which I hear is the pits.
Brooke and I text and e-mail back and forth quite often. It is harder for me to exercise my magic on her when I am not actually present, and sometimes I get the uneasy sense that she is a bit more aware of my manipulations than I’d believed. But the experience of writing to her is excellent training, as I am becoming more eloquent using the spoken word. Sadly, Brooke is quite intelligent in some ways, so I have to remember to be cautious with her. Still, it is a learning process for me, and good practice.
I plan to send the family a Christmas card, and perhaps another one to Grandma. After a few months I will send an e-mail to Aunt Antonia (note to self: Do not call her “Aunt Antonia” when I write), just to stay in touch. Uncle Karl is going to be the hardest nut to crack, but if I persist, I have no doubt I will eventually prevail. He always admired my spirit. He’ll come around in time. A few successful poker games to make back the money he lost, and we’ll be friends again. Besides, even though Brooke shredded those pages about his alternate accounting practices, I still know they exist, which could come in handy at some future date.
I am loving my therapy sessions! If only I had realized how helpful they would be, I would never have resisted being sent away to New Beginnings in the first place. I have no doubt that New Beginnings would have had hot-and-cold-running therapy on offer twenty-four hours a day, and I might have found it almost as valuable as my trip to upstate New York. It is so useful having someone to teach you about basic human emotions, as well as helping you to develop strategies for getting along with others and making them like you. I am learning a lot.
In fact, I have begun to think of a new career instead of the law or not-for-profit management.
The charity scam is always nice to know, and will no doubt come in handy at various times during my life. If I want to splurge on a nice vacation, say, and haven’t got the money, I can always fall back on it. But once you have a record of any kind, everything gets harder, or so I am told. So I have to indulge in illegalities only occasionally.
I think I would make a great psychologist, or even a psychiatrist. Yes, I know it’s expensive to qualify, but what if I can convince the Styles family that I am a worthy cause? They could contribute to my education, couldn’t they?
And having the kind of past I now own is not necessarily a negative in becoming a professional in the mental health industry. My therapist had a tough childhood, at least in her own estimation. Tough childhoods can lead to scholarships in that field.
I believe I could offer a whole new perspective on psychiatry.
Anyway, it’s something to consider. My future is going to be dazzling—trust me.
PATRICE KINDL is the author of the acclaimed novels Owl in Love, Goose Chase, Keeping the Castle, and A School for Brides, among others. She lives with her husband and a variety of animals in upstate New York. Visit her at patricekindl.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Patrice Kindl
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kindl, Patrice, author.
Title: Don’t you trust me? / Patrice Kindl.
Description: First edition. | New York : Atheneum Books for Young Readers, [2016] | Summary: Fifteen-year-old Morgan, an emotionless schemer, moves in with a family after impersonating their niece and will continue the deception no matter the cost.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015025075
ISBN 978-1-4814-5910-5 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-5912-9 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Impersonation—Fiction. | Deception—Fiction. | Conduct of life—Fiction. Classification: LCC PZ7.K5665 Do 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015025075
Don't You Trust Me? Page 17
