Now that she shared a bedroom with somebody who did not want to share with her, she no longer envied twins.
How will they ever untwine? she thought, her heart breaking for both of them.
Maybe she could have a real conversation with Jennie about this. Maybe they could get into their feelings at last if they talked about the twins’ feelings.
It made Jodie so nervous to address Jennie. Jennie took every sentence as something to deliberate, to weigh, and possibly to throw back. And now she had Stephen hanging over her shoulder, listening in, so that even if she made one syllable of progress, like Jennie being impressed about the Japanese, Stephen would ruin it. “Brian must be dying inside,” Jodie said to her new sister.
Jennie nodded. “I would be.”
Like a family, they watched Brian struggle while Brendan sat triumphant on the bench—most valuable player sitting out the last thirty seconds, having scored enough that it was now safe to put in the worst players. Such as his twin.
“Do you play basketball, Jennie?” asked Dad.
“No,” said Jennie. “I don’t like gym much. But Daddy coached soccer. He loves soccer. We went to all his games, of course.”
The Daddy who had asked her the question did not ask any more.
What is the matter with her? thought Jodie. Why is she so cruel?
At the end of the game, Jennie headed straight for the car, forgetting they had to wait for the twins to shower and change. Forgetting, Jodie could only suppose, that she was related to those twins.
“What are we going to do about her, Dad?” said Jodie.
Jennie stood at the far end of the lobby, her back to them, waiting for them to catch up, but not turning to see what was taking them so long.
“We have to accept that this will take time,” said her father.
“Don’t push her,” said Mom. But Mom looked after Jennie with such pain and longing that Jodie found herself wanting to get violent; beat Jennie’s brains out in order to make her hug Mom and call Dad Dad.
Dad walked after Jennie. As he drew near his daughter, Jodie’s heart flipped over. The resemblance was clear all the way down the hall. The hair, the tilt of the head, the stance. She was so completely Dad’s child. Did she know? Could she see it? If those Connecticut parents saw Dad and Jennie together, would they see it?
Jodie watched them talk. Because they were talking. Even Jennie. Say good things, Jodie willed. Be nice to Dad.
The team was out of the locker room as if they had spent no more than a split second in the shower. As Brendan came close, Jodie knew that this was in fact the case. She also knew that Jennie’s family would never do anything as tacky as sweat too much and then skip showering.
Since the boys had won because of Brendan’s playing, a celebration was called for. “Pizza Hut?” yelled the coach. “Everybody’s going? Meet you there?”
Kids shouted yes, parents shouted maybe.
Jodie, Stephen, and Mom caught up to Dad and Jennie. Brendan the victor bounced and yelled among his teammates, far too excited with his victory to think of anything like family, or Jennie.
Brian hung back. “So, Jennie,” he said to his sister, “did you enjoy the game?”
She smiled at him. “I wish you’d been put in more, Brian,” she said, and the Spring family relaxed in unison.
Brian shrugged. “I’m not so hot. He was right not to put me in.”
“Maybe the coach plays favorites,” said Jennie, giving his pride an out.
“No,” confessed Brian. His eyes fastened with pain on his twin. “I’m lousy.”
Jennie touched him. Gently she put her hand on his shoulder to offer comfort. It was her first physical gesture toward any of them. Jodie had tears in her eyes. Dad was right. They couldn’t push. They had to let Jennie have all the time she needed.
Twelve years wasn’t an afternoon, after all. They couldn’t expect the Johnsons’ influence to dissolve the first month.
“What kind of pizza do you like, Jennie?” said Mom. “We’ll get two extra-larges and each half different. So we usually order one half cheese, another half pepperoni, one half hamburger, and the last half everything, but you may pick a half.”
“We don’t eat pizza,” said Jennie. “My mother doesn’t believe in junk food.”
What I’d like to do right now, thought Jodie, is shove her right in that pizza oven. Toast her nasty little personality.
Janie knew perfectly well what her real mother would say if she had witnessed this scene. Did I bring you up to behave like this? I believe in manners! I believe in being nice! I believe in being thoughtful! What is the matter with you? Am I proud of you? No. I am not Now be nice.
Last winter, when she finally knew the truth, she had resolved never to reveal it. She would be Janie Johnson with all her heart and mind and soul. But she could not sustain the lie. She had told.
To make this work, she would have to put Janie Johnson away. To become Jennie Spring with all her heart and mind and soul.
But that too was a lie. And she was resisting with every molecule of energy she possessed. Every time she took a step forward—being nice to Brian—she took two back—pointing out as clearly and viciously as she could that her real family wasn’t in New Jersey, her real family ate better, her real father was the one she called Daddy. So there!
As if the Springs were responsible for this.
As if the Springs had kidnapped her and not Hannah.
When the day finally ended, when the lights were finally turned out, Janie pulled the covers over her head in the room she shared with a stranger, buried her face in a pillow that didn’t have the right texture or the right smell, and silently wept.
She woke up crying. It was not very late. Eleven-thirty. Janie wrapped herself in a bathrobe and went down the hall.
Mr. and Mrs. Spring were in the kitchen, drinking something hot.
“Hello, sweetie,” said Mr. Spring.
Janie tried to smile at him. She couldn’t. She said, “Would you let me telephone my mother?” She burst into tears the minute she said it.
“Oh, honey,” said Mrs. Spring, “you’re not a prisoner here, Jennie. I know it’s a big change. I know you’re scared. We’re all scared. Of course you may telephone Mrs. Johnson.”
Janie dialed Connecticut. Her mother said hello grumpily. She was probably already in bed. “Mom? Mommy?” said Janie, and burst into tears again.
“Hello, darling,” said her mother, crying at her end.
“Mommy!” said Janie again, and couldn’t go on. She could not say I want to come home, not out loud, not with this other set of parents listening. The Springs’ feelings were out on the table, like their mugs of tea or coffee.
But her mother had always understood everything. “It’s hard, isn’t it, sweetie?” said her mother. “Daddy and I have had a rough time. I’m so glad you called. It’s wonderful to hear your voice.”
“You haven’t really heard my voice,” said Janie. “All I said was Mom.”
“My favorite word,” said her mother.
Janie could not talk, so her mother did. Talked about her day, how she went to do her usual volunteer work and somehow lived through it. How Reeve had come over for a piece of cake and how awkward it had been. How Reeve wanted to telephone her, but it was agreed that she had to learn to swim by getting thrown into cold water.
“What does that mean anyway?” said Janie. It sounded like a bunch of people standing around watching somebody drown.
“You have a new family,” said her mother. “I know there must be a million big adjustments.”
Janie could not begin to list the adjustments. Especially not when the two biggest adjustments were sitting there.
“It has to work, darling,” said her mother. “And that means we have to do our share of work, too. My work is not driving down there and getting you. Daddy’s work is not re-kidnapping you and taking us to Mexico to live happily ever after. Your work is getting to know your new family and do
ing your best in your new school and figuring out how to be Jennie Spring.”
“I don’t want to,” said Janie. Forbidden sentences rang like steeple bells in her head. Would you come and get me? If I need you, would you re-kidnap me? Are you going to leave me here with these strangers?
But she and her mother and father had been through that. They were not going to come. They were not her parents. They had no rights. They were surrendering her for good.
“I love you, Mommy,” she said. She couldn’t help it. No matter how much it hurt Mrs. Spring’s feelings. Maybe they would be willing to work out a weekend thing, like a divorce. On alternate weekends, she could stay with her real parents.
Mr. Spring said, “Jennie? May I speak to Mrs. Johnson?”
She could hardly let go of the telephone. What if Mr. Spring made things worse? What if he told Janie’s mother to butt out?
“We’re not the enemy, Jennie,” said Mr. Spring with a depth of sadness in his voice that matched her …
… her other father’s.
She gave him the phone.
Mr. Spring chatted in a forced way. He said that Jennie was doing fine, but everybody knew adjustment would come hard and slow. He said that although they had agreed there would be no contact until Jennie had settled in, that was not going to work. “I think she needs to talk to you every day for a while. Then it can taper off.”
Janie’s heart was flying. She had a lifeline now. When she could not manage any longer, she could pick up the phone and hear the voices that mattered.
Finally she got the phone back. “Sweetie,” said her mother, breathless with pleasure, “this is so wonderful. He sounds like a good father, Janie. He loves you, so does she, they’re on your team. They’re ready to make compromises. So you make some, too. Okay?”
“Okay.” Then she talked to Daddy a little. He was gearing up for income-tax season. Lots of work to do, which was good, he needed to stay busy. “I love you, Janie,” he whispered.
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she said.
She forgot there was another Daddy in the room. When she hung up, almost caressing the telephone that she could now use, her New Jersey Dad was gripping his mug so hard she expected him to crush it, like a soda can. She had no idea what to say. She only knew that she felt so much better, so much more able to face tomorrow. She was actually able to smile at these people to whom she was related. “Good night,” she said. “And—um—thank you.”
Her father struggled to return the smile and didn’t make it.
“Good night,” said her mother, managing an expression that was half sob and half smile.
They are good people, she thought. They are my parents. They are on my team. I could love them if I tried.
Janie fled the hurricane of emotion, feeling her way in the dark bedroom, tucking herself deep under the covers.
And once more she could not sleep. A new nightmare surfaced. She did not have enough love to go around. Whatever love she gave these parents, she would have to take away from the others.
CHAPTER
9
School passed for Janie.
She found the library. The librarian was different from good old Mr. Yampolski back at her real school. This librarian was more like a prison warden of old dead books than an eager, knowledge-thirsty shouter and sharer like Mr. Yampolski.
She needed books. Since Jodie could sleep with the lights on, Janie would read into the night, keeping nightmares at bay. Her dreams were of falling. The cliff she clung to crumbled and everything around her was bottomless. Dark and slippery with the grime of evil. She would wake up drenched with sweat in the tight little bedroom, only a few feet separating her from the new sister whom she could not enjoy, and who definitely did not enjoy her.
Be nice, Janie ordered herself every morning, each time she faced one of her family, each time she needed to speak with them. She managed this not even half the time. The rest of the time, purposely, she was rotten.
The matter of the telephone was always difficult. The Springs could not afford long-distance calls. But Janie’s real parents had given her permission to use their credit-card number any time she wanted. She could just go in the kitchen and poke in a thousand digits and speak to her parents. But she could not do it privately. This family did not know what privacy was. The only other phone was in Mr. and Mrs. Spring’s bedroom, and Janie would have felt like a housebreaker going in there.
She was never left alone. Mr. and Mrs. Spring did not get home from work until late afternoon. Jodie and Stephen were virtually on rotation duty, making sure their new sister was always escorted, and safely locked indoors. Who did they think would kidnap her now?
Jodie was given to flashes of temper that vanished as quickly as they came. Janie rather envied this trait. It must be nice to be mad and be done.
Tired of romance and mystery novels, Janie found the rack of college catalogs and took some of them home. Janie had never wanted to go away to college. How terrifying those huge dorms full of strangers looked. Now she yearned for college because college had no parents. You did not have to divide your loyalties between the Connecticut parents you loved and the New Jersey parents you still could not believe were yours. College had no brothers and sisters either. If you didn’t like your roommate, you could trade.
But the days became weeks, and what had been alien became ordinary.
The name of the beauty shop was Scissors, and outside in front hung an immense wooden pair of scissors, painted silver, glittering in the thin afternoon sun.
Mrs. Spring was the kind of person who was never happy at how her hair turned out and changed hairdressers continually. “Hairdressers hate Mom,” Jodie informed her sister. “She hardly tips at all and then she goes to somebody else for exactly the same cut. So she can never go back a second time to anybody.”
“I’m running out of options,” said Mrs. Spring. “Pretty soon I’ll have to go out of state for a trim.”
“When did you have it cut last?” asked Janie. Mrs. Spring’s hair was fluffy and ill-kempt. Her real mother, elegant and perfect, never had a hair out of place. And yet Janie felt a touch of affection for Mrs. Spring because her hair was a mess.
“Eight weeks ago,” said Mrs. Spring. “Or ten. Or twenty.”
“Twenty?” repeated Janie, laughing. “That’s four or five months.” Her real mother went every six weeks.
“Well, it gives me a chance to see if the beautician knows how to deal with disaster.”
Scissors was exactly like any hairdresser’s Janie had been in. The same perfumed air, the same shampoo-y scent. The same rows of wet-haired women without makeup, smiling at their yet-to-be-made-pretty selves in the huge mirrors. Even the same beauticians: two incredibly thin girls with strange and impressive hair; a heavyset matron fresh from her cigarette break, her hair dyed an impossible blond; and an amused young man, not surprisingly named Michael. The familiarity was soothing.
While they waited, Janie chose Cosmopolitan; this was no doctor’s office where the only choice of reading material was National Geographic or Sports Illustrated. She and Jodie examined the cover for some time, wondering how the model had been laced into her bizarre gold gown.
“Three? Trims all around?” said the heavy beautician, bored. “I only got two on the schedule but we could fit the third in.”
Fit in.
I could fit in, thought Janie, touching the wilderness of her hair. I could get this cut. It would make me more Jennie and less Janie. “Okay,” she said. “Cut mine like”—she felt like a dentist extracting the word—”like my sister’s.”
“No!” shrieked Jodie, blocking the hairdresser as if she were armed. “You’d look terrible, Jennie. This isn’t your cut. You have such beautiful hair.” Jodie said to the hairdresser, “Absolutely not. Don’t touch a hair on her head.” She turned back to Janie. “See, I hardly have any hair. I have to cut it pixie like this because I am not hair-endowed. You, on the other hand, have to display your hair the
way the Cosmo model displays her cleavage.”
They giggled.
Like sisters.
Mrs. Spring and Jodie went in the back to be shampooed. Janie finished the magazine.
It’s happening, she thought. Everybody told me that all it would take is time. Time alone. Days passing would turn me into Jennie Spring.
She stared at her watch. How incredible that time—invisible, lost-forever time—marked by little changing hands on a tiny decorated circle, could change her family, her name, and her thoughts.
I can lean into it, thought Janie. I can take this turn in the road. Become a Spring. Or I can step back.
“You can’t play?” said Jodie, as if Janie had said she couldn’t speak English. “I’ll teach you. You’ll love it. It’s very addictive. We’re crazy about it.” She handed Janie a joystick. Janie had played plenty of computer games, of course, just not Super Mario. She and Stephen and Jodie sat on the edge of the couch staring at the TV screen.
It took her a while to figure out how to make Mario fly and swim and bounce high enough. Janie was determined to keep up, but it was impossible; Stephen and Jodie had mastered the game ages ago and were wonderful.
When Stephen played, he sat completely still, eyes riveted on the screen, moving nothing but his fingertips.
Jodie, however, played sitting on the edge of her chair. She looked like the top half of a ballet dancer. Her legs and feet lay still, but her arms curled and leaped as she lifted Mario up a cliff. She sank down into her own lap when Mario slid on an ice floe and she rotated herself desperately as she tried to hurl Mario over boiling lava. Janie loved watching her. Jodie was a remarkably unselfconscious person in play and in sleep: thrashing and moving and making faces.
Before long, Janie was in the Vanilla Dome, tucking under safe overhangs to escape blue-bubbled enemies. Just when she thought she was going to make it, blue bubbles came from both directions. “Oh, no!” shrieked Janie, trying frantically to run. “I’m dead! I have no hope! Look what’s coming!”