Orphans 02 Crystal

by V. C. Andrews

  We all rose.

  "Pleased to have met you," he said to me. He held out his hand, and I shook it. He had long, rough fingers with fingernails that were yellow and thick and two years past when they should have been trimmed.

  On the way home, I thought about him and about what I'd always imagined my grandparents to be like. Never in any of my dreams did I imagine myself shaking hands with them. I thought they would be full of hugs and kisses, gloating over me and bragging about me just the way they did in movies and books. Maybe Thelma's mother and father would be more like that, I hoped.

  And they were.

  Thelma's mother was a small woman like her, actually smaller, birdlike and very thin with wrists that looked as if they might crack if she lifted a full cup of coffee, but she had a big smile and the loveliest blue- green eyes. She kept her hair its natural gray and styled neatly. Thelma's father was tall and lean but much warmer than Karl's father. They insisted I call them Grandpa and Grandma immediately, and Grandma hugged and kissed me as soon as we were all introduced.

  "I'm so happy there'll be someone young in this house. Now it will be a real home. You make sure you spoil this child, Karl Morris," she warned, shaking her right forefinger in his face. "None of that thinking like an accountant when it comes to her. That's what parents are supposed to do, and if you don't, we will," she added with a mock threat.

  Before they left that day, they even gave me twenty dollars. Grandma said, "Buy whatever Karl doesn't want you to have, whatever he thinks is a waste of money?' She laughed and kissed me again. I liked her a lot and looked forward to the next time I would see her.

  Of all that had happened since I had come to live with Karl and Thelma, this was the best, I thought. My grandparents had finally made me feel part of a real family. Life with Karl and Thelma had started on such a formal and organized note, I had yet to think of them as parents. Karl was more like an adviser, and Thelma was so wrapped up in her books and programs that I felt more like a guest she had invited to share her fantasies.

  I was looking forward to the start of school, making new friends, and being challenged by new subjects and teachers. Thelma took me to registration. Because of my record, I was put in an advanced class, and she bragged about it all throughout dinner that night. As always, however, she found a fictional character with whom to compare me.

  "Brenda's daughter in Thunder in My Heart is just like you, Crystal. She's such a whiz kid, too. Maybe she'll be president someday."

  "How can Brenda's daughter be president someday, Thelma?" Karl asked her. "She's in a book you've read, right?"

  "Oh, but there's a sequel coming, Karl. There's always a sequel," she said, smiling.

  "I see," he said, nodding and looking at me.

  "Crystal's smarter, though," Thelma said. "You should hear some of the things she says, Karl. She can figure out what's going to happen on my soaps before it happens."

  "They're pretty predictable," I commented. "What's that mean?" Thelma asked, batting her eyelashes.

  "It means they're not hard to figure out," Karl said. "They're simple."

  "Oh." She laughed her thin laugh. "They're hard for me," she said.

  Karl gazed at me, and we talked about something else. I felt bad about it and afterward apologized.

  "I didn't mean to make fun of your programs, Thelma," I said.

  "Oh, did you make fun of them? I didn't think you did. How could you make fun of them? They're so full of excitement and romance. Don't you like that?"

  "I like good stories, yes," I said.

  "There, then. I knew you would. Don't forget, tomorrow we'll learn about November's ex-husband. Do you think he still loves her?"

  "I don't remember him," I admitted. She looked at me as if I had said the silliest thing

  "You can't forget Edmond. He's s0000 handsome. If he came to my front door, I'd swoon," she told me, following with her little, thin laugh.

  I wondered if everyone who watched soap operas was as committed to them and as involved with them as Thelma was. A few days later, one of her favorite characters died on Days in the Sun. I came in on the show just as it happened, and she began to sob so hard, I got frightened. She started to shout at the television set.

  "He can't be dead. He can't be. How can he die? Please don't let him die. Oh, Crystal, he's dead! Grant's dead! How can he be dead?"

  "People die in real life, Mom," I said, "so they have to have some die in the shows, don't they?"

  "No," she insisted, her face filled with more anger than I had seen up until now. "It's not fair. They got us to love him, and now they've killed him. It's not fair!" she cried.

  She went into a deep depression afterward, and nothing I could say or do changed it. She was still that way when Karl came home and we all sat down to dinner. He asked why she was so sad, and she told him and then burst into tears again. He looked at me, and I looked down at my plate. My heart was thumping. I didn't know what to say.

  "You're frightening your daughter," Karl remarked. She looked at me and swallowed back her sobs. "Oh. I didn't mean to frighten you, Crystal. It's just so sad."

  "It's only a show, Mom," I said. "Tomorrow, something new will happen, and you'll feel better."

  "Yes, yes, I will. That's right. See Karl, see how smart she is?"

  "That I do," Karl said.

  We finished our meal, but afterward, I found Thelma in her rocker just staring at the floor.

  "I'm going upstairs to read and sleep now," I said.

  "What? Oh, yes, good night, dear. Try to think good thoughts. Poor Grant," she said. "It makes me think of how it was when Karl's mother died."

  I stared at her. How could the death of a real person be the same as the death of a soap opera character?

  "He's an actor, Mom. He'll be back on another show," I said softly.

  "Who is?"

  "Grant?'

  "No, silly," she said. "Grant's not an actor. Grant was a person who died. I don't think of them as actors," she admitted. She started rocking again and stared at the floor. "Everyone will be so sad tomorrow on the show, so sad."

  "Maybe you shouldn't watch it, then," I suggested. She looked up at me as if what I had said was blasphemous.

  "I've got to watch it, Crystal. I care about them all. They're my friends," she said. She made it seem as if they knew she was watching and they depended on her.

  She looked at the floor again instead of kissing me good night as she had done from the first day I had arrived. I hurried upstairs to sleep. I didn't know exactly why, but for the first time since I had come to live there, I felt a little trepidation. I lay there wondering why. I guess I was afraid that my new mother would always care more about her characters than she would about me.

  I had found a home full of family pictures, talk about relatives, promises for upcoming holidays and trips. I had grandparents, and I would soon be in a new school. I had my own room, and I had begun a whole new life.

  But what if I woke up in the morning and found that someone had turned a dial and I was back in the orphanage?

  3 Peas in a Pod

  Two days before school began, I was sitting outside and reading. Thelma wanted me to watch Emergency Care with her. It was a new late-morning series about an ER at a big-city hospital. She tried to get me to watch it with her by telling me I would learn a lot of medical information.

  "And you do think you want to be a doctor someday, Crystal," she emphasized. "So you'll learn a lot."

  "I'll learn more from reading," I told her. I saw it made her unhappy, but I felt as if I was overdosed on soap operas and television in general. At the orphanage, if I watched two shows a week, that was a lot. I knew most of the other kids my age thought I was weird because I'd rather read a book or work on the computer than watch their favorite nighttime shows, but that's how I was.

  It was also a beautiful day, and I couldn't see myself wasting it closed up in the living room with the glow of a television screen on my eyes. This was actually
my favorite time of the year. Summer was fading fast, and the air had the feel of the soon-to-be crisp autumn days. It smelled fresher, looked clearer. Without the humidity and high temperatures, I felt more energetic. I was even restless sitting and reading.

  "Hi," I heard someone say, and looked up to see a girl about my age with long, sunflower-yellow hair standing at our front gate. She wore a pair of baggy shorts and a T-shirt with half moons all over it. A pair of long silver earrings with tiny blue and green stones dangled from her ears. "I live over there," she said, pointing to a house across the street.

  "Hi," I said, and tried to remember if I'd seen her around the neighborhood.

  "You just moved in with Karl and Thelma, right? I heard about it," she said before I could respond. She tossed some strands of her hair back over her shoulder as if she were tossing away a candy wrapper. "My name's Helga. I think we're going to be in the same class. You're going into tenth?"

  "Yes. I'm Crystal," I said.

  "Helga and Crystal. They'll think we're sisters." She giggled. She put all her weight on her right leg. From where I was sitting, it looked as if she was leaning against an imaginary wall. "What are you reading?"

  "Lord of the Flies. It's on our English reading list this year' I said.

  "How do you know that?"

  "I asked when I registered, and they gave me the list," I told her.

  She grimaced, bounced her weight to her left leg and then back to her right, which I would discover later was something she habitually did when she was confused or annoyed.

  "You're doing schoolwork already?" she whined. "Why not?" I shrugged. "I like being ahead."

  "You must be a good student," she said, lingering at the gate. She sounded disappointed.

  "Aren't you?" I asked.

  She shrugged.

  "I get C's and sometimes B's. As long as I don't get D's and F's, my parents don't bug me. Did you live with some other family last year?" she followed quickly.

  "No," I said.

  She stared at me as if she was building the courage to ask another question.

  "I lived in an orphanage," I explained

  "Oh. Did you have any brothers or sisters you had to leave behind or who got adopted into other families?"

  "No," I said, "but I've seen that happen, and it's not pleasant?'

  She smiled. "I hope you don't mind me being nosy. My mother says it's a family character trait. As soon as we hear or see something that's not really our business, we perk up and stick our ears out. She says our family was the inspiration for the first spies."

  I laughed.

  "You want to go for a walk? I'll show you the neighborhood," she said.

  "Okay," I said, standing. I paused for a moment and looked back at the front door.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I'm just wondering if I should tell my mother." "Your mother? Oh, they make you check in and out?"

  "No."

  "So? We're just going down the street?'

  I nodded. Since I didn't expect to be away long, I decided not to interrupt her soap opera.

  It wasn't until I walked up to Helga that I realized she was at least three inches taller than I was. She had patches of tiny freckles over the crests of her cheeks, and it looked as if someone had dotted them with a ballpoint peiiin light brown ink

  "Those are pretty thick glasses you're wearing," she said.

  "I have astigmatism."

  "Bummer," she said. "You oughtta go with me to the mall one day and get nicer frames. Maybe prescription sunglasses, too. You'll look better."

  "I don't wear them for looks. I wear them to help me see and read," I said.

  She laughed. "Sure. Until someone like Tom MacNamara looks your way. He's so cool, but he's a senior this year and probably won't even look at us. He also happens to be captain of the football team."

  "I probably wouldn't be interested in him anyway," I said, and she stopped walking.

  "Sure you wouldn't." She bounced her weight from one leg to the other. "Did you have a boyfriend at the orphanage?"

  "No. I have never really had a boyfriend," I admitted.

  She stared a moment and then started walking again.

  "Me, neither," she confessed. "Oh, I pretended to like Jack Martin one year just so it looked like I had a boyfriend, but I never even kissed him, and when he went to kiss me, I turned my head so he kissed my cheek like an uncle or someone. You see this big house?" she said, pausing. "Clara Seymour lives here. She's a senior this year and will probably be senior prom queen. Her father's a heart doctor, a cardiosomething."

  "Cardiologist," I said.

  "Yes, I think that's it." She tilted her head and squinted at me. "You are smart."

  "I'm thinking of becoming a doctor myself someday."

  "A doctor!" she said. "It costs a lot, I heard." "I hope to win scholarships, too," I added.

  "I'll be glad just to get my diploma. I haven't the slightest idea what do. I was thinking I might become an actress, but I didn't even make the junior play."

  "What do you like to do?"

  "Party," she said, laughing, "and watch television.

  Oh!" She stopped and took my arm. "Watch out for the dog at this house," she said, nodding at a small A-frame. "Old Lady Potter lives there, and she has a mean rottweiler for protection. Last year, he bit a UPS delivery driver and there was a big commotion with the police and everything."

  "I'll definitely stay out of that yard." I laughed. "Thanks for the advice."

  "If you turn right at the corner and go two blocks, you reach the Quick Shop where you can get magazines, gum, and stuff. We're not far from the school, only about two miles. You going to take the bus?"

  "I guess so," I said. "I don't think Karl wants to drive me every day, especially since there is a bus."

  "You call him Karl?" she asked quickly.

  "Right now I do," I said, looking away.

  "But Thelma you call Mom?"

  "She wanted it that way from the start," I said. "You know what? You're right:'

  "What?"

  "You are nosy."

  She laughed. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Bernie Felder. I have a feeling you two will, get along real well. Bernie's a genius, too."

  "I'm not a genius," I corrected.

  "Whatever." She sped up, and we walked to another ranch-style house with a brick facade. It looked like an expensive house. The landscaping was more elaborate than most, and the house was almost twice the size of Karl and Thelma's.

  "What do Bernie's parents do?" I asked.

  "His father owns a big tire store that services trucks," she said. "Bernie's an only child, like you."

  "What about you?"

  "I have a younger brother I ignore," she said "My parents named him William, but they call him Buster."

  "Buster?"

  "When you see him, you'll see why. He looks like a Buster, and he's always busting things," she added. "Come on." She headed for the front door.

  "Maybe we should call first," I said, but she pushed the door buzzer.

  "I'd rather be unexpected," she said "It's more fun."

  A maid answered the door, and Helga asked for Bernie. A few moments later, a boy about my height with straggly red hair and light green eyes appeared. He wore a T-shirt that looked two sizes too big and a pair of jeans with sneakers and no socks. His face was pale with full red lips and a cleft chin.

  "Hi, Bernie," Helga said.

  He grimaced. "What do you want?" he demanded. "That's not a very nice way to say hello," she remarked.

  "I was in the middle of something," he said apologetically.

  "You're not making bombs, are you? My mother always thinks Bernie's making bombs," she told me.

  When she turned to me, Bernie finally looked my way, and his face filled with interest. "Who's this?"

  "Our new neighbor, Bernie. If you hadn't jumped down my throat, I would have been able to introduce you."

  "I'm sorry," he said, turning to m
e. "Hello." "Hello. I'm sorry we interrupted you, but . ." "It's all right." He looked embarrassed.

  "Of course it's all right. What could Bernie be doing that can't be interrupted?" Helga asked.

  "Whatever it is, it's important to him," I remarked dryly. She smirked, but Bernie's face softened. "You just moved here?" he asked.

  "If you didn't have your nose in a test tube all the time, you would have known about her," Helga said. "Her name is Crystal, and the Morrises adopted her."

  "Oh?" he said, his lips forming a little circle as he gazed at me with even more interest.

  "She was an orphan," Helga added. She stepped back to look at me. They both stared a moment, neither speaking.

  "That's orphan, not alien;' I said, and Bernie smiled.

  "She reads a lot, and she's very smart," Helga continued. "Maybe even smarter than you, Bernie. That's why I thought you two should meet."

  "Really?" he said, his interest in me growing even more.

  "This was her idea. I'm sorry we bothered you." I started to turn away.

  "Hey. That's okay," he called. "Come on in."

  "Bernie's inviting us in," Helga said, raising her eyebrows. "You going to show us your laboratory, Bernie?"

  "I don't have a laboratory," he snapped at her. She laughed. He turned to me. "Helga and her friends are always making stuff up about me."

  "No, we don't, Bernie," she said. "Anyway, if we do, you should be honored we talk about you."

  "Some honor," Bernie said. He stepped back, and Helga gestured emphatically for me to follow her into the house. I did.

  Right away, I saw that Bernie's parents had a lot of money. There were paintings all over the walls, and the rooms were very big and full of expensivelooking furnishings. In the hallway to his room was a glass case filled with figurines. The floors were all covered with carpet so soft I felt as if I were walking on marshmallows.

  Bernie's room was twice, maybe three times as big as mine. He had a large desk, a computer, and all sorts of hardware. I recognized a scanner and two printers. He even had his own fax machine. One wall was covered with charts that included the anatomy of the human body, a breakdown of the planets and some galaxies, an evolution time line, and a historical summary of American presidents and vice presidents with a listing of major events during their terms.