$3.99 U.S. $4 99 CAN 9780671020323 LOOK FOR ALL THE THRILLING NOVELS IN THE V.C. ANDREWS® ORPHANS MINISERIES BUTTERFLY CRYSTAL BROOKE RAVEN AVAILABLE THIS SUMMER FROM POCKET BOOKS AND THE SERIES' THRILLING CONCLUSION RUNAWAYS COMING THIS FALL FROM POCKET BOOKS 1 ut I r ] I f c t ^ tl S n ei : P< t Bi t Pi i ', ar >s he 1 sb ^ ^ go ' thi to> C/)> EAN It wag lihe a mag'ic carpet to a gflamorous new life. . . '.n Brooke's most secret dreams, her mother would eturn to the orphanage, full of remorse for having left icr there so long ago. Brooke never imagined a rich ouple who looked like movie stars saying, "We'll take icr," and whisking her away to be their daughter. fct Pamela Thompson and her husband, Peter, seem irilled to welcome her to their huge, gleaming house. oon Brooke is enrolled in a snobby girls school, and ;ceiving daily lessons in etiquette. Every hour and fery outfit is planned to prepare her for the beauty igeants Pamela demands that she enter and win. But rooke just wants an ordinary family life--and to ay on the school soflball team, where her real talents e appreciated. For only when she's on the field with ;r friends can she escape the dreadful feeling that e must always be obedient... or risk losing her Iden chance for a name, a home, and freedom from s terrible secrets other past. V.C. Andrews* Books Flowers in the Attic Petals on the Wind If There Be Thorns My Sweet Audrina Seeds of Yesterday Heaven Dark Angel Garden of Shadows Fallen Hearts Gates of Paradise Web of Dreams Dawn Secrets of the Morning Twiljight's Child Midnight Whispers Darkest Hour Ruby Pearl in the Mist All That Glitters Hidden Jewel Tarnished Gold Melody Heart Song Unfinished Symphony Music in the Night Butterfly Crystal Brooke Published by POCKET BOOKS other than by individual consumers. Pocket Books grants a discount on toe purchase of 10 or more copies of single titles for special markets or premium use. For further details, please write to the Vice-President of Special Markets, Pocket Books, 1633 Broadway, New York, "NY 10019-6785, 8m Floor. For information on how individual consumers can place orders, please write to Mail Order Department, Simon & Schuster Inc., 200 Old Tappan Road, Old Tappan, NJ 07675. POCKET BOOKS New York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore The sale of this book without Its cover Is unauthorized. If you purchased trite book without a cover, you should be aware that It was reported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this "stripped book." Following the death of Virginia Andrews, the Andrews family worked with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Virginia Andrews' stories and to create additional novels, of which this is one, inspired by her storytelling genius. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the. author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 Copyright © 1998 by the Vanda General Partnership All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Iw information address Pocket Books, 1230Aveaue ^^^A*?B&»R-»tBr%di, »y ifleao ^:^B^M?i<^2.i First Pocket Books printing August 1998 10 987654321 V.C. Andrews is a registered trademark of the Vanda General Partnership. POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc. Front cover design by Jim Lebbad Back cover art by Lisa Falkenstem Printed in the U.S.A. Prologue When I first set eyes on Pamela Thompson, I thought she was a movie star. I was twelve, and I had shoulder-length hair the color of wheat. Most of the time, I kept it tied with the faded pink ribbon my mother had tied around it just before she dropped me off at the children's protection service and disappeared from my life. I wasn't quite two years old at the time, so I can't really remember her, but I often think of myself then as a top, spinning and spinning until I finally stopped and found myself lost in the child welfare system that had passed me from institution to institution until I wound up one morning staring wide-eyed at this tall, glamorous woman with dazzling blue eyes and hair woven out of gold. Her husband, Peter, tall and as distinguished as a president, stood beside her with his arms folded under his camelhair overcoat and smiled down at V. C. ANDREWS me. It was the middle of April, and we were in a suburban New York community, Monroe, but Peter was as tanned as someone in California or Florida. They were the most attractive couple I had ever met. Even the social worker, Mrs. Talbot, who didn't seem to think much of anyone, looked impressed. What did two such glamorous-looking people want with me? I wondered. "She has perfect posture, Peter. Look how she stands with her shoulders back," Pamela said. "Perfect," he agreed, smiling and nodding as he gazed at me. His soft green eyes had a friendly twinkle in them. His hair was rust colored and was as shiny and healthy as his wife's. Pamela squatted down beside me so her face was next to mine. "Look at us side by side, Peter." "I see it," he said, laughing. "Amazing." "We have the same shaped nose and mouth, don't we?" "Identical," he agreed. I thought he must have poor eyesight. I didn't look at all like her. "What about her eyes?" "Well," he said, "they're blue, but yours are a little bit more aqua." "That's what it always says in my write-ups," Pamela told Mrs. Talbot. "Aqua eyes. Still," she said to Peter, "they're dose." "Close," he admitted. She took my hand in hers and studied my fingers. "You can tell a great deal about someone's potential beauty by looking at her fingers. That's what 2 BROOKE Miss America told me last year, and I agree. These are beautiful fingers, Peter. The knuckles don't stick up. Brooke, you've been biting your nails, haven't you?" she asked me, and pursed her lips to indicate a no-no. I looked at Mrs. TalbOt. "I don't bite my nails," I said. "Weir, whoever cuts them doesn't do a very good job." "She cuts her own nails, Mrs. Thompson. The giris don't have any sort of beauty care here," Mrs. Tatbot said sternly. Pamela smiled at her as though Mrs. Talbot didn't know what she was talking about, and then she sprang back to her full height. "We'll take her," she declared. "Won't we, Peter?" "Absolutely," he said. I felt as if I had been bought. I looked at Mrs. lalbot. She wore a very disapproving frown. "Someone will be out to interview you in a week or so, Mrs. Thompson," she said. "If you'll step back into my office and complete the paperwork..." "A week or so! Peter?" she whined. "Mrs. Talbot," Peter said, stepping up to her. "May I use your telephone, please?" She stared at him. "I think I can cut to the chase," he said, "and I know how eager you people are to find proper homes for these children. We're on the same side," he added with a smile, and I suddenly realized that he could be very slick when he wanted to be. Mrs. Talbot stiffened. "We're not taking sides, 3 Mr. Thompson. We're merely following procedures." "Precisely," he said. "May I use your phone?" "Very well," she said. "Go ahead." "Thank you." Mrs. Talbot stepped back, and Peter went into her inner office. "I'm so excited about you," Pamela told me while Peter was in the office on the phone. "You take good care of your teeth, I see." "I brush them twice a day," I said. I didn't think I was doing anything special. "Some people just have naturally good teeth," she told Mrs. Talbot, whose teeth were somewhat crooked and gray. "I always had good teeth. Your teeth and your smile are your trademark," she recited. "Don't ever neglect them," she warned. "Don't ever neglect anything, your hair, your skin, your hands. How old do you think I am? Go on, take a guess." Again, I looked to Mrs. Talbot for help, but she simply lookeA toward the window and tapped her fingers on the table in the conference room. "Twenty-five," I said. "There, you see? Twenty-five. I happen to be thirty-two years old. I wouldn't tell everyone that, of course, but I wanted to make a point." She looked at Mrs. Talbot. "And what point would that be, Mrs. Thompson?" Mrs. Talbot asked. "What point? Why, simply that you don't have to grow old before your time if you take good care 4 BROOKE of yourself. Do you sing or dance or do anything creative, Brooke?" she asked me. "No," I answered hesitantly. I wondered if I should make something up. "She happens to be the best female athlete at the orphanage, and I dare say, she's tops at her school," Mrs. Talbot bragged. "Athlete?" Pamela laughed. "This girl is not going to be some athlete hidden on the back pages of sports magazines. She's going to be on the cover of fashion magazines. Look at that face, those features, the perfection. If I had given birth to a daughter, Brooke, she would look exactly like you. Peter?" she said when he appeared. He smiled. "There's someone on the phone waiting to speak with you, Mrs. Talbot," he said, and winked at Pamela. She put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me closer to her. "Dariing, Brooke," she cried, "you're coming home with us." When you're brought up in an institutional world, full of bureaucracy, you can't help but be very impressed by people who have the power to snap their fingers and get what they want. It's exciting. It's as if you're suddenly whisked away on a magic carpet and the world that you thought was reserved only for the lucky chosen few will now be yours, too. Who would blame me for rushing into their arms? A Wliole New Ball Game In my most secret dreams, the sort you keep buried under your pillow and hope to find waiting in the darkness for you as soon as you dose your eyes, I saw ray real mother coming to the orphanage, and she was nothing like the Thompsons. I don't mean to say that my mother wasn't beautiful, too, wasn't just as beautiful as Pamela, because she was. And in way dream she never looked any older than Pamela, either. The mother in my dreams really had my color hair and my eyes. She was, I suppose, what I thought I would look like when I grew up. She was beautiful inside and out and was especially good at making people smile. The moment sad people saw her, they forgot their unhappiness. With my mother beside me, I, too, would ftwget what it was like to be unhappy. In my dream, she always picked me out from the 7 V. C. ANDREWS other orphans immediately, and when I looked at her standing there in the doorway, I knew instantly who she was. She held her arms open, and I ran to them. She covered my face with kisses and mumbled a string of apologies. I didn't care about ' apologies. I was too happy. "I'll just be a few minutes," she would tell me and go into the administrative offices to sign all the papers. Before I knew it, I would be walking out of the orphanage, holding her hand, getting into her car, and driving off with her to start my new life. We would have so much to say, so many things to catch up on, that both of us would babble incessantly right up to the moment she put me to bed with a kiss and a promise to be there for me always. Of course, it was just a dream, and she never came. I never talked about her, nor did I ever ask anyone at the orphanage any questions about her. All I knew was she had left me because she was too young to take care of me, but in the deepest places in my heart, I couldn't help but harbor the hope that she had always planned to come back for me when she was old enough to take care of me. Surely, she woke many nights as I did and lay there wondering about me, wondering what I looked like, if I was lonely or afraid. We orphans didn't go to very many places other than to school, but once in a while there was a school field trip to New Work City to go to a museum, an exhibition, or a show. Whenever we entered the city, I pressed my face to the bus window and studied the people who hurried up and 8 BROOKE down the sidewalks, hoping to catch sight of a young woman who could be my mother. I knew I had as much chance of doing that as I had of winning the lottery, but it was a secret wish, and after all, wishes and dreams were really what nourished us orphans the most. Without them, we would truly be the lost and forgotten. I cant say I ever even imagined a couple like Pamela and Peter Thompson would want to become my foster parents and then adopt me and make me part of their family forever. People as rich and as important as they were had other ways to get children than coming to an ordinary orphanage TaSss this. Surely, they didn't go searching themselves. They had someone to do that sort of thing for them. So I did feel as if I had won the lottery that day, the day I left the orphanage with teem. I was wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a New York Yankees T-shirt. I had traded a Party of Five poster for it. Pamela saw what the rest of my wardrobe was like and told Peter, "Just leave it Leave everything from her past behind, Peter." 1 didn't know what to say. I didn't have many important possessions. In fact, the only one that was important to me was a faded pink ribbon that I was supposedly wearing the day my mother left me. I managed to shove it into the pocket of my jeans. "Our first stop," Pamela told me, "is going to be Bloomingdale's." Peter brought his Rolls-Royce up to the front of the orphanage, and though I had heard of them, I had never actually seen one of them before. It looked gold-plated. I was too awestruck to ask if it was real gold. The interior smelled brand-new, and the leather felt so soft, I couldn't imagine what it must have cost. Some of the other kids were gazing out the windows, their faces pressed to the glass. They looked as if they were trapped in a fishbowl. I waved and then got in. When we drove away^ it did feel as if I was being swept away on a magic carpet. I didn't think Pamela literally meant we'd be going straight to Bloomingdale's, but that is exactly where Peter drove us. Everyone knew Pamela at the department store. As soon as we stepped onto the juniors floor, the salesgirls came rushing toward us like sharks. Pamela rattled off requests with a wave of her hand and paraded down the aisles pointing at this and that. We were there trying on clothes for hours. As I tried on different outfits, blouses, skirts, jackets, even hats, Pamela and Peter sat like members of an audience at a fashion show. I had never tried on so many different articles of clothing, much less seen them. Pamela was just as concerned about how I wore the clothes as she was about how they fit. Soon I did feel as if I were modeling. "Slowly, Brooke, walk slowly. Keep your head high and your shoulders back. Don't forget your good posture now, now that you're wearing clothes that can enhance your appearance. When you turn, just pause for a moment. That's it. You're wearing that skirt too high in the waist." She laughed. "You act like you hardly ever wear a skirt." 10 BROOKE a "I hardly do," I said. "I'm more comfortable in leans." "Jeans. That's ridiculous. There are no feminine lines in jeans. I didn't know the hems were that high tills year, Millie," she said to the salesgirl helping me. , "Oh, yes, Mrs. Thompson. These are the latest l&shions." ."The latest fashions? Hardly," Pamela said. "For the latest fashions, you would have to go to Paris. Whatever we have in our stores now is already months behind. Don't hold your arms like that, Brooke. You look too stiff. You look," she said, laughing, "like you're about to catch a baseball. : Doesn't she, Peter?" "Yes," he said, laughing along. She actually got up to show me how to walk, to hold my arms, to turn and hold my head. Why was ft so important to know all that when I was trying oa elothes? I wondered. She anticipated the question. "We really can't tell how good these garments wfll look on you unless you wear them correctly, Brooke. Posture and poise, the two sisters of style, win help you make anything you wear look special, : understand?" I nodded, and she smiled. "You've been so good, I think you deserve something special. Doesn't she, Peter?" ; "I was thinking the same thing, Pamela. What would you suggest?" "She needs a good watch for that precious little i 11 V. C. ANDREWS wrist. I was thinking one of those new Cartier watches I spotted on the way into the store." "You're absolutely right. As usual," Peter said | with a laugh. 1 When I saw the price of what Pamela called a good watch, I couldn't speak. The salesman took it out and put it on my wrist. It felt hot. I was terrified of breaking or losing it. The diamonds glittered in the face. "It just needs a little adjustment in the band to fit her," Pamela said, holding my hand higher so Peter could see the watch on my wrist. He nodded. "Looks good on her," he said. "It's so much money," I whispered. If Pamela heard me, she chose to pretend she hadn't. "Well take it," Peter said quickly. What was Christmas going to be like? I wondered. I was actually dizzy from being swept along on a buying rampage that took no note of cost. How rich were my new parents? I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the house Pamela and Peter called home. It wasn't a house; it was a mansion, like Tara in Gone with the Wind, or maybe like the White House. It was taller and wider than the orphanage, with tall columns and what looked like marble front steps that led to a marble portico. There was a smaller upstairs porch as well. The lawn that rolled out in front of the house was bigger than two baseball fields side by side, I thought. I saw fountains and benches. Two older 12 BROOKS sen in white pants and white shirts pruned a sawer bed that looked as wide and as long as an Mympic swimming pool. When we turned into the ircular driveway, I saw that there was a swimming met behind the house, and what looked like ca- »anas. ^"How do you like it?" Pamela asked expectantly. "Just you two live here?" I asked, and they both aughed. "We have servants who live in a part of the louse, but yes, until now, just Peter and I lived tese." "It's so big," I said. .^Asyou know, Peter is an attorney. He practices sorporate law and happens to be active in state politics, too. That's why we were able to bring you home so soon," she explained. "And you already know that I was nearly Miss America," she added. "Bor many years, I was a runway model. That's why I know so much about style and appearance," die added without a tidbit of modesty. "I think we've overwhelmed her, Pamela," Peter said. "That's all right. We have so much to do. We don't have time to spoon-feed our lives to her, Peter. She's going to get right into the swing of Hangs, aren't you, sweetheart?" "I guess," I said, still gawking as we came to a stop. Instantly, the front door opened, and a tall, thin man with two puffs of gray hair over his ears came hurrying out, followed by a short brunette in a blue 13 I) V. CL ANDREWS maid's uniform with a lace white apron over the skirt. "Hello, Sacket," Peter called when he stepped out of the car. "Sir," Sacket replied. He looked to be in his fifties or early sixties. He had small, dark eyes and a long nose that looked as if it was still growing down toward his thin mouth and sharply cut jaw. The paleness in his face made the color in his lips look like lipstick. "Welcome back, Mr. Thompson," he said in a voice much deeper than I had anticipated. It seemed to start in his stomach and echo through his mouth with the resonance of a church organ. The maid flitted about the car like a moth, nervously waiting for Pamela to give her orders. She didn't look much older than thirty herself, but she was very plain, no makeup, her nose too small for her wide, thick mouth. Her nervous brown eyes blinked rapidly. She wiped her hands on her apron " and stood back when Pamela stepped out of the car. i "Start bringing the packages in the trunk up to Brooke's room, Jotine." "Yes, ma'am," she said. She glanced at me quickly and moved around the vehicle to join Sacket at the rear. They began to load their arms with my packages. "Peter, could you show Brooke the house while I freshen up?" Pamela asked him. She turned to me. "Traveling and shopping can make your skin so dry, especially when you go into those department 14 i-with their centralized air. All that dust, too," wadded. ^fo problem, dear," Peter said. "Brooke," he id, holding out his arm. At first, I didn't under- Etnd. He brought it closer, and I put my arm rough. "Shall we tour your new home?" he said, suing. t .looked at the servants rushing up with my ickages, the grounds people pruning and manitring the flowers, hedges, and lawn, the vastness 'fte property, and my head began to spin. It all |oade me feel faint. F My new home? g^AB my life, I had lived in rooms no bigger than a |§i«et, sometimes even sharing the space with another orphaned girl. I shared the bathroom with a half dozen other children most of the time. I ate |»'a cafeteria, fought to watch what I wanted to watch on our one television set, and protected my small space like a mother bear protecting her cubs. Then, in almost the blink of an eye, I was brought to what looked like a palace. I couldn't speak. The lamp in my throat was so hard, I felt as if I had Wallowed an apple. I leaned on Peter's arm for leal, and he led me up the stairs to the grand front teor through which Pamela hurried as if the house were a sanctuary from the evil forces that would steal away her beauty. "Voil&," he said, standing back so I could step inside. Once within the long entryway with tile floors that resembled chocolate and vanilla swirled ice 15 V. C. ANDREWS cream, I turned in slow circles, gaping at the big oil paintings that looked as if they were taken from some European museum. I gazed at the large gold chandelier above us and the grand tapestry on the wall above the hallway, beside the semicircular stairway with steps covered in thick eggshell-white carpet that looked as fluffy as rabbit fur. "That's a scene from Romeo and Juliet," Peter said, nodding at the tapestry; "The masked ball. You haven't read that yet, I suppose?" I shook my head. "But I bet you know the story, huh?" "A little," I said. "What do you think so far?" he asked. "I don't know what to say. It's so big in here." I gasped, and he laughed. "Close to ten thousand square feet," he bragged. "Come along." At his side, I viewed the enormous living room with its white grand piano. "Neither of us plays, I'm afraid. Do you?" I shook my head. "Well, maybe we should think about getting you lessons. Would you like that?" he asked. "I don't know," I replied. I really didn't know. I had never had a desire to play the piano. Of course, I would never have had an opportunity to learn, anyway. "There are probably many new things you will find yourself wanting to do," Peter remarked thoughtfully. "When things seem so impossible, I |g£ BROOKE pne you don't give them a second thought, ?" nodded. That made sense. He was smart. He lo be smart to have earned enough money for ^this, I thought. EtieEe were many more expensive-looking paint- is,, very expensive-looking vases and crystal, and doj pounds the furniture was spotless, the wooden arms ^Itegs polished until they glittered, the sofas and ilbairs looking as if no one had ever sat on them. H^We don't spend enough time in here," Peter laid as if he could read my thoughts. "It's one of |i8se showpiece rooms. We're usually in the den, iMSsre we have our television set. Maybe now that s^C^"'--' "" ^^fre here, we'll have some quality family time lifting and talking. It's a good room for talking, l&yit?" he asked with a smile. l^^makes me feel tike I should whisper. It's like a |q®xb'-"in a famous house or something," I said, and Kl'-teaghed.' ^**I love to see the faces of those who view my ||ome for the first time, because, through them, I ^gan see it freshly myself," he said. |; We continued down a hallway lined with mirrors Hli gilded, scrolled frames, small tables with vases "SsSI of fresh flowers, and paintings wherever there Iwas free space. 1: ."^bu have so many paintings," I said, as I pstopped to study a beautiful seascape. ; "Art's a good investment these days," Peter said. "You enjoy the beauty while it grows in value. V. C. ANDREWS That's better than some boring old corporate bond, huh?" I shrugged. It was all a foreign language to me. He laughed. "Pamela has about the same level of interest. She's one of those women who just waat thefl machine to keep producing but don't care to know* anything about the machine, which is all right," het added quickly. "I handle that part of our lives, and] she... well, she's beautiful and makes me lookl good. Know what I mean?" he said with a wink. Again, I had no idea, so I just smiled. _ "Pamela is convinced you're going to be just as, beautiful as she is. You know, she really did almost make it to the Miss America pageant," he said. I "Really?" J "Uh-huh. First, she was prom queen, homecoming queen. Miss Aluminum Siding, something like: that. Then, she was Miss Chesapeake Bay and a finalist for Miss Delaware, which would have taken her to the pageant. She lost out to the daughter of a very wealthy racehorse owner. The old fix was in there, I imagine," he said. We stopped at the dining room. You had to haves servants to eat a meal there, I thought. The ovat dark cherry-wood table looked big enough to seat" all the children in the orphanage, the administrators, cooks, custodians, and even some visitors. Its had a dozen settings with goblets and wine glasses and more silverware than I saw in our whole cafeteria. There was a large matching hutch filled with glasses and dishes on one side and serving BROOKE ^latotes, highback chairs, a wall mirror, and two Chandeliers as well. l-S^'^Dinner and all formal meals are served here, of i'Nwrse," Peter said with a sweep of his hand. L^Ramela supervises everything in the house," he l^ffiptamed. "Her parents sent her to a finishing -school, what some people call a charm school. She |J»ows all there is to know about etiquette. You'll t&ttBn lot from her. I swear," he said with a laugh, I'lBlbe should have been born into royalty. She could I'Hie in that world. Our den or family room, as some I'lefer to it," he continued, stopping at the next door vywx right. ^ The furniture was black leather, and the television looked as big as some movie theater screens. ||ed velvet drapes were opened to reveal the pool Igpd the cabana through large panel windows. A Jf^ole section of the room had its walls devoted to lectures of Pamela. I was drawn to them. ^-"There she is!" Peter cried. "Winning beauty |*'6i»tests, representing companies, riding in pa' I fades, meeting celebrities and important politi- | cians, modeling designer clothes, which is how I g- xaet her." ^ " I gaped. My new mother knew all these famous | people? ; Peter came to stand beside me. "Impressive, I huh?" ^ "Yes" I said. i "I got lucky when she fell in love with me. She's a constant surprise. Pamela has her own kind of rare beauty, and she knows what beauty can do and V. C. ANDREWS cannot do," he said, nodding at me. "You're going to learn a lot of information that's practical for an attractive female," he promised. The way he spoke made it seem as if Pamela and now I, which I didn't believe for a moment, were citizens of a different country or part of a different species because of our looks. "She can be innocent and childlike when she has to and sharp, seductive, sophisticated, and keen when she has to, and she knows when to be which. Few women I know do, and that includes the brainy ones who work at my firm, the Ms. this and the Ms. thats," he said with some bitterness. He seemed to become aware that he was getting too serious and smiled. "That^s a state-of-the-art digital sound system," he pointed out, "with Surround Sound. Few people have it, the technology is so new. Comfortable room, huh?" I was listening with half an ear, part of me still awed at the luxuriousness in this overwhelming house. He continued the tour, showing me the two downstairs baths, servants' quarters, the kitchen, which looked big enough to handle a restaurant full of people, and the library, his office at home, which was dark and baronial with hundreds of leather- bound books. "I'm afraid I'm unreasonable when it comes to my office. I don't permit anyone in here without me being present. Too many important document&and private papers," he explained. I saw a machine rolling out printed matter. "I get things faxed 20 , BROOKE Directly here sometimes. Well, now let's go upstairs mid see your room." ^i returned with him to the stairway and began to ascend. We heard what sounded like opera coming HisOs. a set of closed double doors at the end of the Bway. "Pamela likes to listen to operettas while she's in r boudoir." When I made a face, he laughed. ^tt'Usee." IrWe stopped at a tall door, and he glanced at me yith that impish glitter in his eyes just before he ^opened it. This time, I couldn't swallow back my gasp. ^ yte joom, my room, was four times the size of Niat my room had been at the orphanage, and my ^bcd was big enough to be a trampoline! It had four light pink posts and a headboard with a long- stemmed rose embossed on it. There was a milkwhite desk with drawers and across the room a long Counter with mirrors and a vanity table. The table was covered with brushes, containers of makeup, "Ipelinejr, tubes of lipstick, a hair dryer, and an ivory box full of barrettes and hair ties. All of my new clothes were put away in the dressers and large walk-in closet, and still there was room for lots and lots more. In the closet were mirrors and even a small table and chair. ,0n both sides of the bed were large windows draped in white and pink gingham curtains. My room looked out on a view of the countryside, and in die distance I could see a small lake. Peter opened a cabinet across from the bed to 21 V. C. ANDREWS show me a small television set. He then opened the bottom cabinet to reveal the sound system. , "We'll get you some music this weekend," he i promised. "Pamela already has the next few days planned out, and shopping is a large part of it. So?" he said, standing there with his hands on his hips. "Are you happy?" I shook my head. Happy just wasn't a big enough | word. I turned around and then touched things to | be sure they were all really there and this wasn't a | dream. } "This is my room?" I finally had to ask. I He laughed. "Of course. Why don't you rest and I then shower or bathe and dress for dinner, our first together. Pamela has had something special pre- ; pared. She's determined to spoil you rotten. She I says a beautiful woman has to be spoiled. She must | be right. After all, who can deny I have spoiled ' her?" he said. | There was a knock on the door, and we turned to i see Joline. I "Mrs. Thompson sent me to see if Miss Brooke would like me to run her bath now," she said. Miss Brooke? I thought. "See," Peter said, "how Pamela is always think- | ing ahead. Well?" "Well what?" I asked. "Would you like Joline to run your bath now?" "Run my bath?" "Get it ready for you?" Peter explained. I gazed at the laige, round tub in the sparkling 22 BROOKE i. What was so hard about getting a bath can do that," I said. ^^Of course you can," he said, "but from now on, aacone else will do it for you. It's what Pamela Bits. She wants you to be just like her." Something nudged me deep down inside where Iwy dreams and secret thoughts were kept. It was b£ a tiny alarm. An alarm I didn't quite under- and. ^ gazed at my new clothes, my expensive watch, |g? whole new world, so much more privileged and tfe than the orphanage. I What could possibly be the danger here? 23 2 Out with the Old ^,_ When Pamela had sent Joline to run my bath, she didn't mean simply to turn on the water. She instructed her on just how much of each of the bath powders and oils to mix as well. I stood by, watching her measure it all out with the precision of a chemist. "What is all that?" I asked. "These are things Mrs. Thompson says will keep your skin soft and silky and keep you from aging." "Aging? I don't think I have to worry about aging. I'm not even thirteen," I said. She smiled at me as if I had said something very stupid and then turned on the water. After that, she set out big fluffy bath towels and my robe and slippers. "Is there anything else you need?" she asked me. "No," I said. I couldn't imagine anything else to ask for. 24 BROOKE g"Have a nice bath," she said, and left. SSaefe a nice bath? I looked at the tub. At the mage, we usually took quick showers, and ever we took a bath, that was in and out, too. f people always needed to use the bathroom. t was I supposed to do in a bath except wash get out? took off my clothes and folded my T-shirt over jeans neatly, placing them on the counter by the i. Even though my clothes were old and worn, saied I should treat them special just because were now here in a bathroom fit for a princess. 1 two sinks! Why would one room have two in its bathroom, and what was that bowl next s toilet? 6 rich marble tiles felt cool beneath my naked I shut off the water. Bubbles had risen so high threatened to spill over the edge of the tub. I »d in and lowered myself gingerly. I dont ir how she did it, but Joline got the water just for me, not too hot, not too cold. It did feel j^iod, and I had to laugh at myself reflected in the mirrors around the tub. There I was with only my bead emerging from the small sea of bubbles. t ^Instead of a wash cloth, there was a sponge on a handle dangling from the shower rack. I ran it over my legs and sat back to rest my head against the left, cushioned pillow attached to the bathtub. The soapy water snapped and crackled around me. ?1 Could it be that fairy tales do come true? How much happier was Cinderella? "There you are, a perfect fit," Pamela said as she 25 V. C. ANDREWS came into my bathroom. She had her hair tied under a small towel and wore a long red silk bathrobe with Japanese letters drawn across the front. There was what looked like layers of thin mud over her cheeks and forehead. "How does it I feel?" "Very nice," I said, trying not to stare at her. "Joline put in a little too much bubble bath, I see, but that's all right. We were born to indulge ourselves, you and I. Your indulgence was put on hold for a while, but that's over," she declared with the confidence of a queen. "Peter says you like your new home." "It's a palace," I said. She laughed. "Why not? We're a pair of princesses, aren't we? Don't you want to try the jets?" "Jets?" She bent down and pushed a brass button at thei foot of the tub, and suddenly the water began toi circulate madly, streams of it striking me in the legs' and back. I screamed with delight, and she laughed. The bubbles grew bigger and bigger until I had to wipe them aside to see her standing there. She pressed the button again, and the jets stopped. "I'll have to be sure to tell Joline she used too much bubble bath so she gets it right tomorrow night," she said. "Tomorrow night?" Was I to take a bath like this every night? "Of course. You have to cleanse the pores of your skin every day and rid them of the poisons. These gels and powders," she continued, pointing to the BROOKE and containers Joline had used, "are chosen expert care. I have one of the best dermatolo- in the country advising me on skin care. we not going to get any of those ugly blemishes igers get," she vowed with such vengeance that iasart rose and fell. "Not my daughter, not the iter of Pamela Thompson." ; pushed aside some of the bubbles and stud- yhair. lore's a lot of work to be done," she remarked ^her fingers tested the strands. "Your hair feels straw when it should feel like silk, and it needs e thickened. I'll give you your first shampoo." went to the counter to choose one. "We'll start ithis," she decided. "Get your head wet." I dipped myself down until my head went under sr and then came up into her waiting hands. poured the shampoo over me and began to b it in. I felt the ends of her long fingernails teh at my scalp. A few times she hurt me, but I ['t complain. When she was done, she told me dunk under the water again. I was surprised ;n her hands followed and continued to massage scalp under the water, keeping me there until lungs began to bum. I came up with a gasp. She turned on a shower head attached to a short those and rinsed me off. Then she returned to the counter to choose a conditioner. She worked that in and told me to let it set for a while. 'I've never really spent so long washing my hair before," I confessed. It seemed like a lot of work, anyway, and I couldn't imagine why it was impor- 2! V.C. ANDREWS tant that your hair feel like silk instead of straw, but I didn't say that. "You've got to do it every day from now on. You should try not to miss a day, even if you're sick. Beauty like ours can never be taken for granted, Brooke. Did you ever hear of antitoxins?" S I shook my head. "Toxins age you, but Acre are antitoxins to battle them and keep us from getting old too fast I intend never to look my age, even if I have to fight it with plastic surgery. I know what you're thinking,'* | she said before I uttered a sound. "You're thinking] I already have had plastic surgery, right?" I shook my head. ; "How else could I look like a teenager or a woman just twenty, right?" "I don't even know what plastic surgery does," I confessed. She wasn't listening. "Plasticsurgery is the artifi| cial last resort," she lectured. "It's for the lazy, If| you watch your diet, exercise, and nurture your I skin the way you and I do, there is no reason to go under the knife." 3 ; "Should I get out now?" I asked. I didn't want to S interrupt her, but the water was getting cold. "What?" "Should I get out of the bathtub?" "Oh, first we want to rinse out your conditioner," she said, and went to the small hose again. "From now on, you'll be able to do this yourself, and if you're too tired, you can have Joline do it." "This is the first time anyone's washed my hair BROOKE ?I can remember," I said. "I imagine they did l I was a baby." EW're always a baby when it comes to being lered, especially by men. Never, never let believe they've made you happy," she ad- %y not?" hey'll think they've done enough. They can r do enough. That's our motto. Okay, step ^**she said, and I rose. *3ust as I thought. You have a perky little figure, laan ounce of baby fat," she remarked. "Actu|$f;** she said, letting me stand there naked and t handing me my towel, "you're a bit more ascular than I expected. We don't want to be too tard," she warned as she pinched the muscle in my |&igh. "Men like their women to feel like women," ibesaid. S||Sae '..handed me the towel finally, and I wrapped % around myself quickly, drying my body as she Studied me. She looked at my pile of clothes. e "Weren't you wearing a bra?" she asked. 1^ "No." ly^lfeur breasts are forming. It's never too early for tirewoman to worry about sagging," she declared. l^yirst thing we do tomorrow is buy you more tanderthings. Sit at the table, and I'll dry and brush |&ut your hair." | "Thank you," I said, and sat with the towel still |wrapped around me. i She started the blow dryer and ran the brush F through my hair. "It's nice having someone else to 1 29 V. C. AiCDRJBWS nurture and develop. It's as if I'm starting over. OS course, I couldn't do this with just anyone. I had to have a young girl who had promise. I'm just sur» prised at the size of your shoulders," she muttered. "I wonder why I never noticed they were so broad." "My shoulders?" "How did you get them to be so ... manly? You don't do those exercises with weights, do you?" I shook my head. What was wrong with strong shoulders? "I suppose it's just something that happened. I'm sure it will change as your hormones do. And we 1| can help them along," she whispered in my ear. "We can what?" "Make our female hormones more efficient I have some pills, some nutritional supplements my nutritionalist has provided. Fll tell yoaall about it Oh, there's so much to do. Isn't this fun?" she said. "See how much nicer your hair feels? Go on, touch it," she said, and I did. It did feel softer. I nodded. "You're going to be a contestant fester than you | think," she said. "A contestant?" "For the beauty pageants." She laughed. "Maybe I'll enter you in Miss Teenage New York this year. Yes, I will," she decided instantly. "And you'll win, | too. Think of what they will say." She stepped " back. The headlines flashed across her eyes as she envisioned them and drew them in the air with the brush. "'Pamela Thompson's daughter declared Miss Teenage New York.' I love it." I stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was BROOKE fantasizing some scene on a beauty pageant ge/ My eyes went to the toilet again. "What's IF I asked. 3S?hat?" She looked. "Oh, that's a bidet. Don't 1-know what that is?" I shook my head. "You -thing. That's to keep us dean in our private s»" she said. "You have to do it every day, too. ien don't realize how they can ... smell." ooked at it, my eyes wide. t feels good, too," she said. She laughed. "Men ^ that to be the healthiest place on our bodies, llbet you know all about that, don't you?" she »d guardedly. 9io," I said, "not really." i'*Not really?" She stared at me a moment. " B're a virgin?" ii-huh," I said, amazed that she would even at a wonderful idea," she declared, "to be I until you win your first big pageant. I love Mfou must promise me you'll not give yourself to B6t any old boy, Brooke. Sex is your treasure," she Kdyised. "You must guard it like a dragon who Dards the pots of gold in its cave, okay? We'll talk a pt more about this. That's what mothers are for. laa amother," she declared, gazing at herself in the nirror. "Who in his right mind would look at me md think, even for a moment, that I was old aaough?" She laughed, and then her gaze went to ay clothes again. "We've got to get rid of those. I'm sorry you nought them in here," she said. 31 V. C. ANDREWS "What?" I asked. She picked up my T-shirt and jeans as if they were diseased. "Ugh. They still reek of that horrible place. ll hate jeans on a girl, anyway." ' She opened a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. Before I could utter a protest, she jabbed the scissors into the seat of my jeans and tore a gash through them. Then she pulled them apart and threw them and my T-shirt on the floor. "'Just leave it there for Joline to put in the garbage," she said. She washed her hands as if she bad been handling contaminated clothing and then smiled at my shocked face. "Time to pick out something to wear to dinner,** she said. "We want to look beautiful together when we enter and Peter looks up from the table. We want to take his breath away. From now on, every time we walk into a room together, we want to captivate our audience. That," she declared with a sharp nod, "is what we were placed on earth to do.** Before I followed her out to the bedroom, I went: to my jeans and took out my hair ribbon, thankful to see that it hadn't been cut in two. I clutched it tightly in my hand, and as she sifted through all my new clothes, I shoved it into a dresser drawer. I was afraid she might want to throw that out, too. "No, no, no, maybe, yes," she declared, and plucked the blue dress off its hanger. "Try this," she said, handing it to me, and stood back. Why did she have to see it on me again? I BROOKE She had seen it on me in die store. She what it looked like. n't you think you should put on a pair of i first?" she asked with a smile when I id the towel and reached for the dress. ided and went to the dresser drawer. After I I panties on, I slipped the dress over my head died it down. It fit a little snugly and had I straps and a U-shaped collar. I turned to face ^and she grimaced. '"don't know why I didn't notice it before, but ihoulders and arms are so ..." at?" I asked. mly," she repeated. "I'll have to speak to my about you. There must be a way to get you ; softer," she decided. "Now you see why are like living things." >ok my head. y take on different personalities in different sments. Back at the department store, under harsh lights, colors were washed out, and the eats appeared one way, but here, in a warmer ||fBg» in a bedroom or in a dining room, they're BSterent. I wouldn't have bought this one," she laduded. "From now on, I'm going to have them ling your clothing here to try on." I^JBrnig them here? You mean to my room?" |<*Qf course," she said. "We were all just in too big (ittatt. But"--she recovered with a smile--"no f0m done. We'll buy some more. That's all. I have lUstoe dress to wear, too. How experienced are you |jth makeup?" she asked. 33 V. C. ANDREWS "I put on lipstick sometimes," I said. "Lipstick?" She laughed. "Sit at your table. on. Quickly. I have my own hair to style and own makeup to do yet." Why were we getting so dressed up for dinne; wondered. Were there more people coming? Was Ki going to be like a party? *1 I sat, and she came up behind me. She turned on| the magnifying mirror, and the light washed away any shadows on my face. Then she pressed her palms against my cheeks and turned my head from side to side, studying me. j She nodded. "Now that I have you under the light, I see where we have to make your nose look smaller. I want to highlight your eyes and thicken your lip line just a little." ^ She began to work on me as if I were being made up for a ball. The surprise in my face was easy to see. I was never very good at disguising my feelings, Whenever I thought something was stupid, the corners of my mouth turned up in a smirk that gave my feelings away. One of my grade-school teachers, Mrs. Garden, once told me that my forehead was as good as a blackboard on which my thoughts appeared in bright, white, chalky letters. "Every time you go out of this room, and especially every time you leave this house," Pamela lectured, "you have to remember you are onstage. A woman, a real woman, is always performing, Brooke. Every man who looks at you is youl audience. Whether we like it or not, we're attract BROOK® that means men's eyes are like little i always turned on our faces and bodies. t even if you're married for ages or going »me beau for months, you still have to s him with your elegance and beauty every I sets eyes on you, understand?" ??" I asked. ^?" She stopped working and put her hands hips. "Why? Because if we didn't, they look elsewhere, for one, and because we be the center of their attention always. st wait," she continued, returning to the , "until you're out there, competing. You'll a cutthroat, ruthless world when it comes ing the affections of men. Every woman, she wants to admit it or not, is competing Msvery other woman. When I walk into a room, »do you think looks at me first? The men? No. it wives look at me and tremble. (have the feeling," she concluded, "that I found pu. just in time. You're still young enough to l^elop good habits. Press your lips together. Ifcete," she said. "Let's look at you now." IsSne turned my head toward the mirror and stood oefaind me again, her hands moving me so that she euld get a profile. P-^See the difference? You walked in here a child, lad now you look like a young woman, which is Aat I'm going to make you into." I stared at myself. With the eyeliner, the rouge, he lipstick, I did look entirely different, but I 35 V. C. ANDREWS wasn't sure I liked it. I felt clownish. I was afraid K utter a word, and I was terrified that my blackboard of a forehead would write out my disapproval. If» did, she didn't notice, maybe because she had covered it in makeups , "Don't think you have to spend a lot of time ii the sun to get your skin this shade, Brooke. Th< sunlight is devastating. Those horrible ultraviole rays age us. We don't need it with this makeup anyway. Well now, you look ready. Come along an< talk to me while I get dressed." I rose and started after her. "Wait," she said with a harshness I hadn't heart before. "You weren't planning on walking aromu barefoot, were you?" The way she said barefoo made it sound like a sin. "What? Oh," I said, looking down. "Put on the shoes that match the dress," shi ordered sternly. I went to the closet and stared at the dozens o pairs she had bought me. "The pair second from the right," she said impa tiently. "You have so much to learn. Thank good ness I came along." I put on my shoes and followed her out» glancing through my bathroom doors at my torn jeans an< my T-shirt lying on the floor where she had throw) them. It was like saying good-bye to an old friend Dressed in my expensive clothes, my hair styled my face made up, I felt as if I had betraye" someone. Myself? "Come on," she urged when I hesitated. "Peter i BROOKS r downstairs. Of course, we must always keep aiting. Thafs a golden rule. Never be on t and never, never, never be eariy. The longer re made to wait, the more their anticipation »and the louder the applause in their eyes,** id. "Now, get moving. I need time to make *more beautiful, too." irried after her, and when she opened the I? doors to the master bedroom, I felt the . spiral up from my lungs and get caught in roat like a giant soap bubble. It wasn't a >m; it was a separate house! re was a long carpeted landing that led to two a. On the right was a living room with furniture ^television set. On die left was a bedroom that iy was fit for a queen. It was round and had its t white marble fireplace, but what was astound3 me was the bed, because it, too, was round ig, fluffy pillows. Above it was a ceiling of s. There were mirrors everywhere. I gaped. ela saw my amazement and laughed. ybe now you'll understand what I meant said we were always on the stage, always rming, Brooke." She looked at the bed and i tip at the ceiling. "You know what it's like?" asked, her voice softer but full of passion. I shook my head. *Ifs like we're in our own movie, and you know tair [waited, afraid to breathe. " "We're always the stars," she said, and laughed. 37 3 All tlie Vorld'0 a Stage ^.(^ Pamela had me sit beside her at her vanity table. I was designed so that the mirrors weren't only u front of her. They followed the curve of the wal and surrounded her. She could glance to the righ or left and see her profile without moving her head She said it was important that she know how shi appeared from every angle, every side, and espe dally the rear. "When they see how fabulous I lod from behind," she explained, "they'll be dying te see my face." She spoke to me in the mirror instead of turninj to look at me directly. It was as if we were lookinj at each other through windows. "Always call me Pamela," she told me. "It's nio to have a daughter, and I want to be known as you mother, but I'd rather people thought we lookei more like sisters, wouldn't you?" she asked. I nodded even though I wasn't sure. I had friend BROOKE ^orphanage, giris who were so much like me mid have been sisters. We shared clothes, did >lwork together, sometimes talked about boys I other girls at school who often snubbed us Use we were from the orphanage. Together we ed» and together we suffered. For the first time, light of the life I'd left behind and how I would A what I never had was someone older, some- aUierly to whom I felt I could turn, not with lints but with questions, more intimate mis, questions I didn't feel comfortable ask? counselors or teachers. Not being able to ; someone like that left me feeling even more C, listening to the echo of my own thoughts. Fhese women who have children early get to ?so matronly even when they're barely out of twenties. It's all about attitude, and attitude is ^important, Brooke. It will have a direct effect l^aur appearance. If you think of yourself as ^"you'll look older. I think of myself as becom- i more beautiful, just blossoming," she said, at her image in the mirror. She looked at H 4on't want you to think I didn't want children. tst:couldn't have them while I was in competiS and while I was a model. Having children cages your shape. Now," she said, smiling, "I I have my shape, and I have a daughter." |She wiped the thin layer of brown facial mud off ly with a dampened sponge and then stared for a moment and leaned in toward the 39 V. C. ANIXREWS glass. Her right forefinger shot up to the crest of ha left cheek as if she had just been bitten by a bug She touched it and then turned to me. "Do you see a small redness here?" she said pointing to the spot. I looked. "No," I said. She returned to the mirror, studied herself again and then nodded. "It's not something an untrained eye would see,' she said, "but there's a dry spot here. Every time go out of this house, I come home with somethinj bad." She looked over the rows of jars filled with skh creams and lotions. Her eyes turned a bit frantii when she lifted one and realized it was empty. "Damn that giri. I told her to keep this tabl< stocked, to check every day and replace anythinj that was empty or even near empty," she said rising. She went to the closet on her right an< opened the door. When she stepped to the side, I saw the shelve and shelves filled with cosmetic supplies. It looke< as if she had her own drugstore. She plucked a ja off a shelf and returned to her table. "This has special herbal ingredients," she began "It replenishes the body's natural oils." She dippe< her fingers into the jar and smeared the gooe^ looking, chalky fluid over her cheek, gently rubbin it into her skin. Then she wiped off the residue am looked at herself again. "There," she said, turning to me. "See the differ ence?" BROOKS fesaw no changes, but I nodded anyway. Your skin is very sensitive to atmospheric ages, my dermatologist says. It was so hot in t orphanage, for example, and then we went to t air-conditioned department store, but they I't filter their air conditioners enough, and there !r particles floating around that stick to your skin i begin to break down the texture. r*The water in this house is specially filtered," ^continued. "Harsh minerals are removed so ir don't have to worry about baths and showers." tted never occurred to me ever to worry about h a thing, anyway. a "Our air conditioners, heaters, everything is filled. Other people's homes are filled with dust. metimes I feel like wearing a surgical mask when ?te invited to someone's house, even Peters althiest clients. They just don't know, or they t- don't tare about the beauty regimen," she L f sighed as she began to brush out her hair. iese ends are splitting again. I told my stylist s wasn't trimming it right Damn," she said, and a stopped. "See that, see?" she said, pointing at face. "Whenever I get upset, that persistent Okie shows itself just under my right eye. There, ?" | There was a very tiny crease in her skin» but I auld never call it a wrinkle. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sat quietly for a moment. I waited until she her eyes again. 41 V. C. ANDREWS "Anxiety, aggravation, worry, and stress hasten the aging process. My meditation instructor has taught me how to prevent it I must chant and tell myself I will not be upset. But it's so hard sometimes," she moaned. She stared at me. "You shouldn't squint like that, Brooke. See how your forehead wrinkles? It's never too early to think about it. Do you need glasses?" "I dont think so," I said. "Doa*t worry about it if you do. We'll get you the best contact lenses. Peter wears contact lenses." "He does?" ""He's a good-looking man, your new father, isn't he?" she asked with a proud smile. "I didn't just marry for money and position. I married a handsome man." "Yes, he is handsome," I agreed. "And he's a good lover, too, a considerate lover our new daughter, our new family, and the iful women in my life," he added. sail touched our glasses. I had seen this only in gR»ovies, so I was very excited. I sipped my ftmpagne a little too fast and started to cough. ^&u took in too much," Pamela said. "Just let IGlr lips touch the liquid, and permit only the Ssest amounts into your mouth. Everything you ittrom now on must be feminine, and to be BHinine you need to be dainty, graceful." I crunched the napkin in my hand and wiped as mouth. "No, no, no," she cried. "You dab your mouti Brooke. This isn't a hot dog stand, and even if was, you wouldn't do that. It looks too mani' gross." She shook her head to rid herself of tt feeling. "Go on," she insisted. "I want to see ys do it right. That's it," she said when I dabbed m lips so gently I hardly touched the napkin. "Perfec See?" She looked at Peter. "Yes," he said. "She's going to do just fine. Ho do you like your champagne?" he asked me. I shrugged. "I thought it would be sweeter." "It's not a Coke," Pamela said. "Besides, sugar terrible for your complexion. You'll see that v have no candy in our house and that our desser are all gourmet when we have them. We're bol very conscious of calories normally, but tonigh being it's so special, we're indulging ourselves; Pamela explained. Joline came in with our salad. I watched Pame to see which fork to use because there were thre Peter saw how I was studying their every move ax smiled. "Every moment of your life in this house will I a learning experience," he promised. "Just folio Pamela's instructions, and you'll do fine." Our salad was followed by a lobster dinne Sacket brought out wine, and I was permitted son of that as well. Everything was delicious. Tl dessert was something called creme brulee. I hade BROOKE I of it, much less ever tasted it, but it was 1. Everything was. yard, we went into the family room to talk, aela seemed very fidgety. She excused her[ went upstairs. I wondered what was wrong, Sen Peter was called to the phone, I decided k in on her. I hurried up the stairs and id on her door. She didn't answer, but I what sounded like someone vomiting. I d the door and looked in. roela?" I called. "Are you all right?" ^sounds of regurgitating grew louder and then d abruptly. I heard water running, and a it later, she stepped out of the bathroom. se was crimson. s you all right?" at's wrong?" she asked. ought I heard you being sick." |ffl fine," she said. "Did Peter send you up?" fad fine," she insisted. "Just go back downstairs [continue to enjoy your evening. I'll be right ?. Go on," she ordered. seft, closing the door quietly behind me. she was sick, why was she so ashamed? I dered. inutes later, she rejoined Peter and me, and »looked as perfect as she had when she had come irostairs for dinner. She was certainly not sick, I |>ught, not the way I knew sick people to be. Peter |a't notice anything wrong, either. ' 41 V. C. ANDREWS He asked me lots of questions about my life i the orphanage. Pamela was more interested in will I remembered about my mother. "Nothing, really," I said. *^A111 have is a fade pink ribbon that I was told was in my hair when sl left me." "You still have it? Where? I didn't see it whe you came here," Pamela said quickly. She looked i Peter fearfully. "It was in the pocket of my jeans," I said. "I pi it in my dresser drawer." "Why would you want to keep something til that?" "I don't know," I said, near tears. "It's nothing, Pamela. A memory," Peter sail shrugging. She looked unhappy about it and settle back in her chair slowly. "There are all these horror stories about famili< who have taken in a child, and years later, tl biological mother, a woman who had nothing to (j with raising the child, comes around and demanc her rights," Pamela muttered. "That cant happen here," Peter assured he "She doesn't even remember her face. Do yoi Brooke?" I shook my head. "No." "You shouldn't hold onto anything, not even ribbon," Pamela said angrily. "The woman got r of you like... like some unwanted puppy." "You're upsetting her, Pamela," Peter sa gently. She looked at me and relaxed again. "I'm ju BROOKE aied about you. I want you to be happy with |6 explained. led to smile. This whole day was so over- Bag, so full of surprises and excitement, I »*t keep my eyes open. Peter laughed and (ed I get a good night's rest. i all just starting for you now, Brooke. This dy been a taste of what's to come," he sed. ;wme up with you and show you the proper ^ take off your makeup," Pamela said, "and ive you something to put on your face." t on? But I'm going to sleep," I said, con- at*s when your body is best able to replenish ^she explained. "You want to wake up look- autiful, don't you?" v laughed. "Just listen to Pamela," he said. ?an see she knows what she's talking about." en makeup every day, wash with special filter your air, eat a special diet, avoid being ^Aant, meditate, put something special on you slept. It seemed like so much effort. If what I had to do to be beautiful, I thought, I I'd rather be plain old me. I would never say so, not if I wanted Pamela e me like a daughter or even a sister. lew that much, but what I didn't know was sAat I knew was not enough, not hardly h. 49 For the next few days, Pamela took over my life if I had nothing more to say about it. She s schedules for almost every waking moment and 1< nothing to chance. The plan was to enroll me in t; Agnes Fodor School for Girls, a private schc designed only for those born with silver spoons (heir mouths. However, before I could be broug to the school for registration, Pamela wanted me learn enough about poise, etiquette, and style" "fool any of the blue bloods." "Blue bloods," she explained, "are those who a born into wealth and position, whose family lit age goes back to the most respectable and hnp< tant people in our social and political history. Th are taught from day one how to behave and co duct themselves, and that is how I want you appear, as well." "But I'm not a blue blood," I pointed out. [ BROOKE S?^You are now," she said. "Peter and I come from be best stock, and you will carry our name. Most Important, when someone looks at you, they'll be boking at me. Understand?" ipt nodded, but I didn't like it. I didn't like iecoming an instant blue blood. I needed more §HBe to get used to having servants at my beck and Mril end more time to learn my way about a house liat resembled a palace. I didn't like Joline drawing ^Sy bath every night and laying out my nightgown 1 slippers. I felt like an invalid. Pamela decided at colors I would wear and how I should brush hair. When I said I had never worn nail polish, } looked at me as if I was some sort of alien --ature. |"Never? I just can't befieve that," she said """"hen I laughed at the idea of polishing ay ails, she grew angry. "It's not funny. It's as >us as any other part of your body," she ia- d. $ut who will see them?" I asked. t's not important who else sees them. You must rstand. We're beautiful first for ourselves, to ourselves feel special, and then, when we feel al, others will see it and think of us as special, don't understand why we would be so spe" ^ I muttered. ^our clothes, your coiffure, your makeup, your k, and your smile, everything about you must rdinate, must work together. Women like us," taught me, "are truly works of art, Brooke. V. G.ANBKEWS That's what makes us special. Now do you understand?" she asked, I didn't, but I saw that if I didn't look as if I did, she would grow angry. The one time she did get very angry with me occurred three days after I had arrived, when I asked if I could call someone at the orphanage. I wanted to talk to Brenda Francis, my one close friend. I knew she missed me. I was practically the only one she spoke to, and I wanted to see how she was doing. I had left so quickly, we never really had lease to say good-bye. | ^^Bbselutely not!" Pamela said forbiddingly.1 "'Kill must drive that place and everyone in it out of your memory forever. "Very soon," she continued, "you will completely forget that you were ever an orphan." She clenched her teeth and grimaced as if pronouncing the word orphan filled her mouth with castor oil. 3D^q» inside my heart, I worried that if my new ttkC^er found orphans so distasteful, how could; she ever come to love me? Maybe she was worried about that, too, and that was why she was so intent on my becoming a new person as soon as possible, For both our sakes, I thought I would try. The first thing we did after Pamela instructed me on my morning makeup was go to the shopping mail to buy more clothes for me. In the lingerie department, she chose a padded bra. I felt foolish trying it on and even more silly when I gazed at my exaggerated figure in the mirror. I looked years 52 BROOKE with that cosmetic change and corn- that I didn't look like the real me. t's exactly what I want for you," she in, "I know these contest judges. When you're i Miss Teen this or that contest and you look r, they're impressed, especially die men." as still so surprised that she really believed I be in any such contest What did she see in ice that I couldn't see, that no one else saw? I tot I was plain-looking, even with the appear- of bigger breasts. Moving with the bra on ed me of wearing a baseball catcher's chest or. I felt bulky and thought everyone was ; at me because my bosom didn't fit the rest e we left the store, she bought me a half more skirt-and-blouse outfits, three more i of shoes to complete the outfits, a necklace, ; pairs of earrings, and a beautiful pinky ring-- old band with a variety of baguettes. She then de an appointment for me to have my hair nmed and styled by her beautician the day fore she would enroll me at Agnes Fbdor. When we returned home, my charm lessons an, although she told me that every moment I nt with her would be like being in charm school. I was right. -As we rode in the limousine, she instructed me i how I was tosit She demonstrated her posture, way she held her head, and how she kept her > either pressed tightly together or crossed prop- r. ' . ' ' ^ 53 V. C. ANDKEWS "We're going to meet many different people owe the next few days, Brooke. Whenever I introduc you to someone, don't say 'Hi.' I know youn people today always use that, but you want t sound cultured. Always respond with 'Hello. I'i glad to meet you.' And always look at the pereoi have direct eye contact so the person feels you ai paying attention to him or her and not looking cm their shoulder at some gorgeous man. You ca shake hands. It's proper, but you will be introduce to some of our European acquaintances as wel and they have the habit of kissing cheeks. For nov follow my lead. If I do it, you'll do it. First, pi your right cheek to the right cheek of the perso you're greeting, and then pull back slightly and d it again with your left cheek. Most of them like t do what is called air kissing." "Air kissing?" "'Yes, you really don't press your lips to som< one's face. You kiss the air, smacking your lit loudly enough to sound like a kiss. You'll get tl) hang of it," she promised with a smile. It all sounded so silly to me. Actually, it n minded me of some of the rules Billy Tompson ha come up with when I was ten and we were formic our secret club at the orphanage. He had a special] designed handshake that started with the pressin of thumbs, and he also bad secret password; Maybe cultured, sophisticated people simply ha their own club. "I hate 'okays,' too, another big teenage wor these days. When someone says, 'How are you' 54 BROOKE ^-reply, 'Very well, thank you,' or Tine, thank ^* |*&U this," she explained, "is really going to be portant when the judges do their little inter- sws. They'll be judging you on poise and charm." "What judges?" "The contest judges. Aren't you listening?" she ecd with irritation in her voice. |Tm listening, but when will I be in a contest?" pWell, of course, I don't want to enter you in " ything before you're ready, but I think in about I months," she replied. Six months! What contest is that?" "It's not one of the most prestigious, but it's a 1 one to cut your teeth on," she said. "It's the New York Teenage Tourist Pageant held in ny. The winner gets awarded scholarship mon- , not that you need that, and represents the state ta. number of advertising promotions, print disfs, and even a video. I'd like you to win," she I firmly. ^in? I wouldn't have the nerve to set foot in the vs, much less go up on a stage, but Pamela had t determined took on her face that I had already ie to recognize, and when that look came over , it was better not to contradict her. My education in what I now thought of as Proper tehavior for Blue Bloods continued as soon as we rrived home each day. The first afternoon was set side for table etiquette. Suddenly, the dining room r^tecame a classroom. h "Sit straight," she instructed, and demonstrated. V. C. ANDREWS "You can lean slightly against the bade of the chair, Keep your hands in your lap when you're non actually eating so you don't fidget with silverware. ] hate that, especially when people tap forks oe plates or the table. Rude, rude, rude. You may, a; I'm doing now, rest your hand or your wrist on th<|j table, but not your whole forearm. Don't, absolutely don't, put your hands through your hair<| Hairs often float off and settle on dishes and food. "If you have to lean forward to hear someone's; conversation, you can put your elbows on the table. In fact, as you see when I do it, it looks more graceful than just leaning over stupidly. See?" "'yes,'* I said, and then she made me do every' thing she had instructed. "Teenagers," she said, again pronouncing the word as if we were primitive animals, "often tip their chairs back. Never do that. Of course, yoa know to put your napkin on your lap, but ya» should, out of courtesy, wait for the hostess to pat hers there first. Since I'm the hostess of this house, at any of our dinners, wait for me. Understood?" I nodded. "Don't flap it out, either. I hate that. Some of Peter's friends wave their napkins so hard over their plates that they blow out the candle flames. They're so crude. "Just like with the napkin," she said when Joline began serving our food, "you don't begin eating until the hostess begins. "The first day you were here, you didn't know which piece of silverware to use first. Always start 56 BROOKE nth the implement of each type that is farthest ?om the plate. ^ "Now, watch how I cart my meat, how I use my a-k, and how I chew my food. Don't cut too big a ieee. Chew with your mouth closed, and never ilk with food in your mouth. If someone asks you question while you're chewing, finish chewing od then reply. If your dinner partner is sophistidted, they will know to wait. "At Agnes Fodor, you will see that the giris yw these rules of etiquette, Brooke. I don't want to feel inferior in the school dining room. If make a mistake, don't dwell on it, under- tdr' . "Yes," I said. I was never so nervous fating. In A, my nerves were so frazzled, the food bubbled my stomach, and I didn't remember tasting ything. M dinner, I was to perform for Peter's benefit. I laifted my eyes to Pamela after every move, almost fter every bite, to see whether she was pleased or not Usually, she nodded slightly or raised her I- eyebrows if something wasn't right. I.-„ "You're doing wonders with her," Peter de- dared. "I told you that you were in the hands of an ' expert when it comes to style and beauty, didn't I, 'ftooke?" . "Yes," I admitted. *i "I almost didn't recognize this girl," he told Pamela. "Is this the same poor waif we brought home to be our new daughter?" he joked. "Pamela, you're a master at this." 57 V. C. ANZKREWS Pamela gloated in the light of Peter's compi meats. Afterward, when she and I were alone,; began what she considered the second stage of development: how to handle men. "Do you see how often Peter gives me a corn) ment?'* she asked. I nodded, because I did, and wondered if all husbands were like that. "Well, it) doesn't happen by accident. If you let a man know that you expect him to show his appreciation, he.: will fan all over himself doing just that. I'm a professional woman," she explained. "I've made I femininity my profession, and I don't mean I'm f one of those women's liberation creatures you see | ' in magazines and on television news complaining. Hey think they'll get what they want by demand- ^ ing and protesting. "There's only one sure way to get what you want, from a man," she declared. "Make him think that | you believe he is someone special and that you'll] always treat him that way if he treats you as.) , someone special. Make him believe he is your protector. Be fragile, dainty. You need his strength,, He'll go mad trying to protect you, to keep you happy, and voillt," she said with a wide gesture, "youll always get what you want "It's easier than protesting, and you enjoy yourself at the same time. Who wants to be marching with placards in the hot sun, screaming and burning bras? And who wants to look like that? Some of them wouldn't be caught dead wearing lipstick, even though they look so pale you'd think they were dead. BROOKE fe "I hope you understand what I'm saying, Brooke. K*s very important." g leautiful | trees, and a small pond in the rear. Everything was clean and perfect. And 50 quiet. She was right It didn't look like a school. It looked like an old-age home. :.,. ../ ^ .-. - ,- ^-..;;-- --;,-r I took a deep breath. What Pamela really should have taught me was acting. I was very uneasy. I 5 A Sliining Star ^SP With suspicious, cold gray eyes, Mrs. Harper| stared across her desk at me. I was quite overwhelmed by the school. The lobby had a mural that', reached from the floor to the ceiling. It was a | painting of cherubs looking up devoutly at a burning lamp. The marble floors glistened around the sofas, chairs, and tables. A girl of about fifteen greeted us as soon as we entered. She introduced | herself as Hiliary Lindsey and told us she was on | duty as school receptionist. She carried herself, | spoke, and offered her hand to me just the way I Pamela had described and instructed me to greet people. As Hiliary led us down the corridor to Mrs. Harper's office, Pamela shifted her eyes to me and gave me a nod and smile as if to say, "That's how you are to behave, see?" I was even more nervous. The outer office was as neat and spotless as the lobby. Mrs. Harper's TSSLOOKS, f, Miss Randall, was a short, buxom, red' woman with strains of gray invading the fitair at her temples and the hair at the top of her fade forehead, which formed rows of thick folds rhen she saw us enter. Hiliary introduced us to her and then glanced at to give me a small smile before she left us. nents later, the inner office door opened, and . Harper asked us to come in. She was tall with narrow hips and a small bosom barely visible sr her loose, dark blue, ankle-length dress. 1 ildn't guess her age. Her hair was dark brown, eyes hazel. She had a very pointed nose and a ? small mouth. Her cheeks were flat, which made her r face seem more narrow, but she had the kind of | skin and complexion I knew Pamela admired, not a ^wrinkle, not even a crease in her forehead. | . Everything on her desk was organized, the dark mahagony looking as polished and dean as everything else I had seen so far. Before her on the desk was a folder with my name on it. "Agnes Fbdor," she began, with her eyes still fixed on me, "is a highly regarded, prestigious, and exceptional institution. My girls all have the highest-quality behavior. You will immediately notice vast differences between Agnes Fodor and your average public school," she said. Nothing in her face moved but her small, thin lips. "For one thing, our classes are very small. We believe in giving the students personalized instruction," she added, turning to Pamela. "For another, our students are all on what we call the honor f 65 V. C.ANBSEWS system. We don't expect our teachers to be cemed with behavioral problems. Everyone let tile rules we live under and respects them. If a; violates a rule, she confesses her violation. Not t any do," she added quickly. "It is not unusual ft teacher to leave his or her classroom during administration of an exam. Our girls don't ch( You will notice that our lockers don't have locks < them. Our giris don't steal. You will notice that o bathrooms are spotless. There are no disgusti cigarette butts in the toilets and sinks. Our gi don't smoke in school, and most don't out ofj school, either." 'J "Smoking is the worst thing for your complex- i ion," Pamela said. :| Mrs. Harper looked at her almost as hard as so* was looking at me for a moment and then turned back to me with a little bounce of her head on her' neck. It bobbed like a puppet's head. "'K>u wilt notice that there are no pieces of paper, no refuse of any kind on the floors in our classrooms or in our hallways. Our ga-te don't-litter. You will never find gum stuck under chairs. We don't permit the chewing of gum. "After lunch in our cafeteria, there is very little for the custodian to do. Our girls dtean up after themselves, and that even means wiping up the tables if need be. "During the passing between classes, so one raises her voice. Ourgiris don't shout to eachother. Never, never in the history of Agnes JRxtor, has there been any sort of violent behavior. If two giris BROOKE i disagreement, they are encouraged to bring he judicial committee, which is made up of who are elected to the position. We have a very ctive and active student government organil, and we have great faith in it. The girls police iclves. If anyone should violate one of our she is brought before a committee of her > and judged and punished accordingly.*' ut I thought no one violated the rules," I said. [ly just said it because I was a little confused, I Mrs. Harper's stone eyes suddenly became hot ds. Her face actually blanched, and the veins in " neck stretched until they were embossed under skin. -- "I meant they rarely violate the rules, so rarely at last year, the judicial committee met oaiy fee," she said. "All year long. "It is," she continued, turning to Pamela, "very | unusual for Agnes Fodor to admit a student who hasn't had a history of proper breeding, but given your and your husband's position in the community, we have confidence Brooke will quickly adapt to Was high standards." It started sounding like a compliment and ended up sounding like a threat, I thought Pamela smiled. '^Oh we're sure of that," she replied. "Very good," Mrs. Harper said, and opened my folder. She gazed at it a moment and then looked up at me again. "You haven't been exactly what we would call a good student. However, we usually find that our students experience an immediate 67 V. C. ANDKEWS improvement on their work here. We will expect i less from you, despite your unfortunate bac ground. "As your mother has requested," she continue nodding at Pamela, "nothing about your past w leave thi& office. This folder remains in my files f my eyes only." "Thank you," Pamela said. "However," Mrs. Harper continued as if Pame had not spoken, "you know that I know, and know what I expect of you. Do you have questions?" I shook my head. She stared, her eyes sweeping over me like tvsf spotlights searching for an imperfection. I squirmed in my chair under such intense observation. Finally, she closed my folder and stood up. "Come with me," she ordered. I rose and followed. Pamela stepped up to touch say arm when |E| reached the door. | '"€»©od4uek," she said, smiling. I nodded and| continued to follow Mrs. Harper. At the entrance^ to the principal's office, Mrs. Harper turned to ^ Pamela. "We'll be right back, Mrs. Thompson," she said, gazing at me and motioning for me to continue along with her, She walked quickly, taking surprisingly long strides. I actually had to skip a step or two to catch up with her. "This is Mr. Rudley's class, English. He'll be r homeroom teacher as well, so he has your ?dule card," she explained as she opened the _ ».; - ' . . ... |Mr. Rudley, a tall man of about fifty with hair a (darker than ash, looked up from the textbook thands. He was sitting on the edge of the front i desk and jumped into a standing position as as he saw Mrs. Harper. The class, consisting t girls, all turned and immediately stood. They 1 at me with interest. lathis is the new student I told you would be ' teMng today, Mr. Rudleyy" Mrs. Harper said. Her name is Brooke Thompson." "Very good, Mrs. Harper. Welcome, Brooke. You ? sit right here," he said, nodding at an empty esk to his right. ^N^, I quickly crossed the room and waitedtoitafcrajy !sat. Mrs. Harper remained in toe doorway, || ^'twould take it as a personal favor if you gute |N®etel help Brooke feel at home at our school She j||te» transferred in from a public school," she l^idded, turning down the corners of her mouth in Ipebvieus disapproval. | The giris looked at me. One of them, a thin i^Aonde with blue eyes and freckles Sprinkled over ^er cheekbones, stared at me the most intently. I ^oaldn't quite teltifitwas a took of welcome or of warning. "You'll see to & that she receives her schedule card, Mr. Radley," Mrs.Harper said before stepping out and closing the door. There was a moment of silence. Mr. Rudley V. C. ANDREWS nodded, and we all sat down. Then he went to Nt| desk and found my card. | "Let's introduce ourselves, girls," he said to the| class. "Margaret?" | "I'm Margaret Wilson. Pleased to meet you." '"i Before I could respond, the shorter, dark-haired .i gal behind her continued. "I'm Heather Harper 1 Mrs. Harper's niece," she added somewhat smugly, 'I' "I'm Lisa Donald," said a girl with hair the color of rust and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. She j looked older than everyone else because she had a i bosom even fuller-looking than my fake one, as well as a more knowing, more sophisticated glint in Siereyes. "I'm EvaJensen," a Scandinavian-looking blond girl said. Her face had hard, sharp features, and she was very thin. "My name is Rosemary Gillian," said a girl with brown hair. She had a dimple in her cheek and a slightly deft chin under thick, full lips. I thought she had an impish gleam in her eyes, especially the way she smiled at the other girls after she spoke. "Helen Baldwin," said the girl who had first looked at me with great interest. "Okay, that's it," Mr. Rudley said. He handed me a textbook. "I don't know what you did at your other school, but we're just starting Romeo and Juliet. Everyone reads a part. Some are reading two qs three because there are only seven of us." "Eight now," Rosemary pointed out. "Exactly," Mr. Rudley said. "So, why don't you pick up the part of..." BROOKE "S&e can be Romeo," Heather Harper said. Tm i0t comfortable being a man." fe, "He's just a boy, remember?" Lisa Donald cor- gpeeted. "Mr. Rudley told us." p "That's correct. Romeo and Juliet are meant to j^be not much older than you people," he said. y "And anyway, Mr. Rudley told us a boy played llafet in Shakespeare's days," Lisa continued^ "so Iwho reads what part isn't important." | '"I think it is," Heather insisted. "I'd rather read pEaliet. Why don't you read Romeo, then? Why | should you be the one reading Juliet?" ^r "Mr. Rudley totd me to read it," Lisa countered. H "All right, girls. Brooke?" I *„ "I don't mind reading Romeo," I said. I looked at the others. Heather had a smirk oa^E^Be»^ "Fine. Then let's get bade to tb^ p^^ Wt- Rudley said. When the bell rang, Eva Jensen and Helen Baldwin came over to me first and offered to show me around. I half expected we would have more students with us at my next class, but our group of seven stayed together for the remainder of the day. Hie passing between classes was just as Mrs. Harper had described: orderly and subdued. Other students were introduced to me, but there was little time until lunch for me to have any real conversations. Naturally, everyone wanted to know where I had gone to school and what it was like. Only Heather Harper looked as if she didn't think much of my answers. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked. "No." | "Are your parents very rich?" she followed. The | other girts seemed to step bade fro let her take overJ the conversation. | "Yes," I said. "My father is a very important | lawyer." 4 "So's mine," Heather said. "How rich are you?" | "I don't know," I said. "I mean, I don't know | how much money we have, exactly." "I do," she bragged, "but I don't tell people." "So why did you ask her to tell you?" Eva Jensen said. ^Just to see if she would," Heather said. Then she laughed. "Anyway, I could find out if I wanted to. My aunt knows just how much money everyone has. Our parents had to nil out a financial statement to qualify for the school." "She won't tell you," Rosemary Gillian said. "And if she knew you had even said such a thing, sbe*d-throw you oat herself." --Heather seemed to wither in her chair. "I'm just kidding. Everyone's just trying to impress you, Brooks," she accused, her eyes hot. ^'That's what they always do when a new giri comes. So what do you think of the place?" she followed, back to her cross-examiner's attitude. "It's beautiful," I said. "I mean, I cant believe it's a school." The others smiled. "Neither can we," Heather said dryly. "I'm glad you like it here," Eva said with warm eyes. "We can always use new friends." 7^ ? BROOKE ii" ^"What do you mean, new friends?" Heather tipped. "You mean any friends, don't you?" I,-, The others laughed. Eva looked as if she would ^ **i need friends, yes. You can never have enough tends," I said, and looked at Heather. "Real friends, that is." . No one spoke a moment, and then Heather laughed. "Tu're home on time. Come right here," she said, indicating the living room. "I was just going to put my books away i change," I said. "I wanted to tell you all about, "Just step right in here now," she said with a] firmer voice. "You can do that later. There is1 someone here I want you to meet immediately." ; Obediently, I walked down the hall and entered the living room. A short, bald man with a face as round as a penny stood there gaping at me with big, watery gray eyes. He had a dark brown blotch on his otherwise shiny skull. It looked as if someone had splattered beef gravy on him because it spread BROOKB fc4hut lines toward the back of his head and his apples, fcThis is Professor Wertzman, Brooke. I've hired im to start you on piano lessons. Contestants need |show some talent, and the professor will teach la. how to play well enough so you could perform BBething," she declared. It sounded more as if she [d ordained it and it would be. <"But I don't have any musical talent. I sever y^a. tried to play the piano," I said weakly. ^That's because you never had one to play. What "tons were you ever offered at the orphanage?" I asked with a cold smile. "Now you have all the things in life at your beck and call. Professor tzman is a highly regarded piano instructor. It : a great deal to get him to free up some time for but he knows how important this is to ine," added, eyeing him with her icy glare. ^*When he smiled, his chin quivered and his ostrits went in and out like a rabbit's. ^It'is an honor for me to be able to do you and it. Thompson a favor," he said. "See? Everyone's trying to help you, Brooke. Seginning today, you'll have a lesson every day fter school, so come right home," she com- aanded. ^8ut..." It "But what?" She looked at the professor, who Widened his smile, and then they both looked at !jme. t?r. 'The coach, Mrs, Grossbard, asked me to join -(be school's softball team. I hit a home run in class V. C. ANDREWS today, a grand-slam home run my first time up at bat! I have to stay after school for practice evefji day." 1 For a moment, Pamela simply stared at me waS. blinked her eyes. The professor was uncomfortabHI standing in the long moment of silence. He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels with his hands behind his back. j! "Have you any idea of the cost and the effort it took to get Professor Wertzman here?** she begEal softly. "Do you know that the professor tutors most of the pianists from finer families in out community? He has assured me he can get yb| ready to perform a piece in six months. No one else can make such a promise. You are a very luck; young lady.** The way she said lucky made me think I was anything but. "I don't care," I snapped. "I don't want to learns piano. I was never interested in piano. I hit a home run»" Irepeated, backing away. "I'm good at softball. I want to be on the team." .. "Brooke!" "No! You don't care about me at all, you just want to turn me into you!" I cried, aad turned toward the stairway. "You get right back here this instant. Broolee!" I ran up the stairway and into my room, the tears flying from my cheeks. Then I sprawled on my bed and buried my face in my pillow. She didn't have a right to do this, to make plans like this without asking me first. I don't care what 80 BSOOKE & does, I thought I don't care if she sends me ick. I stopped sobbing, wiped my face, and sat igging my knees, waiting for her to come Angrily tor me. I listened hard in anticipation of her otsteps in the hallway, but I heard nothing. nally, I changed into what Pamela called a more tSual outfit, a pair of slacks and a blouse that dn't make me feel any more comfortable than the alhes I wore to school. How I missed my jesas, Tarts, and sweatshirts, I thought. ;I was still afraid to go downstairs, so I opened my wks and started my homework. It was nearly an Wi and a half later when I heard a knock on my lor. I hadn't heard any footsteps, and I never ;pected Pamela would knock. She always just piked right in. "Yes?" The door opened. It was Peter. He was wearing ie of his expensive-looking blue suits and looked ifresh and alert as he would if he had just begun s day. "Mind if I come in?" he asked. "No," I said. ;He smiled and closed the door softly behind him. So," he began, "it looks like we're having our first mily crisis." "I don't have any musical talent," I moaned. "How do you know that?" "I don't, but I don't want to play piano," I sisted. "Well," he said calmly before sitting on the edge 81 V. C. ANDREWS of nay bed, "you're too young to really know wt you want and don't want. Its like someone wi never tasted caviar raying, 'I don't want to caviar. I don't like it' Right?" he asked in a soothing voice. "I suppose." I sniffled. I didn't want to < crying again, but I could feel hot tears builc behind my eyes. "Well, you dont know if you want to play pi? until you try. You might find the experience woa§| derful, and you might make such progress so quickly, you'll get excited about it yourself," n6| reasoned. "You're a very intelligent young lady^j Brooke. I'm sure you can understand my point." 4 I was silent a moment, and then I caught my; breath and turned to him, the tears still bumitt beneath my eyelids. "I hit a home run in gym class today," I said. "I was a grand slam." 4 "Really?" he said, his eyes widening. "A gran^j steamer?'' '| "Uh-huh. And it was my first time at bat ever at1 the new school. The coach asked me to be on the] team. She needs a pitcher, and I always used to be' the pitcher at my old school," I told him. "Is that right?" "The team practices every day after school. The next game is only a week away. Every practice is important for me." "I see. And you told Pamela this?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting as his eyes filled with concern. I BROOKE l^^Ves" | (^"Now I understand," Jbe said, nodding. He rose [ wad walked to the window, paused there for a | teoment, and then turned and walked toward the |4oor. "What if I could arrange for your piano lessons early in die evening after dinner? Do you | firink you could manage all that and your home| work, too?" -- "Yes," I said quickly, evea though I had so idea if I could. h "It would only have to be this way until softban season ends," he explained, and I could tell he was atill figuring out how to make it sound good to I^amda. 15 "But I thought the professor was doing us a favor f and was only available after school," I said. »„- w* ^ [ Peter winked. "We'll negotiate," be answered. ]W-s what I do for a living. The secret is never to panic but to step back, take a breath, and look for new doors through which you can enter the same house. This way, you get to be on the team, Pamela is satisfied that she is doing the best for you, and the professor is happier, too. I'll make sure of that. Sound good?" I nodded. "Great. Then don't worry about it. Most of the time, we make our problems seem bigger than they are. When we look at them calmly, we realize that most of our dragons are created in our own imaginations.' I want to bear more about that home run later," he said at Ac door. He gav® me a big smile again and left. v. a andsjsws I sighed with relief. I was lucky having someone like him for a father, I thought. No wonder he is so successful. He thinks of solutions and ideas so fast. He could probably even be president of the United States. At dinnertime, however, I was still very nervous. Pamela sat with her lips firm, her back straight and stiff. I took my seat quietly, afraid to look at her, because when I did, she shot angry glances at me. "Everything's arranged with Professor Wertz- man/* Peter said happily. *tbi still owed an apology for poor behavior," Pamela muttered, her eyes lifting to focus on me. "Especially poor behavior in front of someone like Professor Wertzman. He goes from one important family home to another, and I wouldn't want him speaking poorly of us." "H&knows better than to do that, Pamela," Peter said. "That's not the point." - ffSm sorry," I said. "I was just upset. It came as such a surprise." "Here I am trying to do the best things for you," she whined, "and you make me look like a fool." "I'm sorry," I said again. "Everything's fine now," Peter said. "Let's just enjoy a great dinner and hear about Brooke's first day at Agnes Fodor." "She could have had her first lesson today," Pamela said in a lower voice, retreating like & car engine puttering to a stop. BROOKS it. "She'll make up for it, Faa sure," Peter said. f^BeU us about the school, Brooke." |,e-1 described cay classes, teachers, and some of the | students. Pamela was most interested in whom I l^sas making friends with. She wanted to know iabout their families, but I didn't know much about anyone dse's family, and I couldn't give her the information she wanted. *s "You should ask more questions," she told me. "Show that you're interested m them. i^ea if yoa adon't really listen," she added. '3 Peter laughed. "Pamela is an expert when it comes to small talk. Everyone wants to talk to her, 4mt at the end of the evening, she can't tell me half iof what they said. No one ever seems to catch oa, though, so I suppose they dont mind," it® s''-ate quipped. Peter laughed, but fee stopped talking about it. . .- ~J The days that followed were harder than I wer 85 V. C. ANDREWS imagined. There was so much schoolwork to catch. up on besides the day-to-day work I had to do. SoftbaB practice was the only thing I really looked! forward to, and my enthusiasm put happy smiled on Coach Grossbard's face. However, it was physically demanding. Very quickly. Coach Grossbard determined that I would be the starting pitcher and bat cleanup. The only girl who seemed dissatisfied] about it was Cora Munsen, who had been tbel team's cleanup hitter. | "You just had one lucky hit," she told me in the I locker room. "You're not any better than I am at] bat** ; I didn't want her to hate me, so I agreed. "I'll do' whatever the coach wants,4' I said. "It's the team that's important." "Sure," she said. "Like you really care. You're just like the others. You want all the glory." "That's not true, Cora." She shook her head and walked away. - Most of the girls made fun of her because she was aa big, but none of them ever said anything to her face. She looked as if she could sweep themoff their feet with one swing of her heavy arms. I learned they had nicknamed her Cora Munching because she ate so much. She even sneaked food between classes. I thought that if she lost weight, she could be very pretty, but I was afraid to tell her. After my softball practice, I had to hurry home to get ready for dinner and try to get in some homework. Occasionally, I didn't have time to I BROOKE Jl^ower before I sat for my piano lesson. Professor Idertzman didn't seem to care. He had a strange per himself, an odor that nearly turned my stompph because he sat so close to me on the piano Klifsch. I tried to turn away or hold my breath, but it l^as difficult not to inhale that stale, clammy, sour IluelL I noticed he wore the same shirt all week, |ted by Friday, the collar would be yellowish brown ^(rhere it touched his neck. - it- When he gave me instructions, he had a way of loosing his eyes so that they became slits. Some- pimes, when he got very excited about a mistake I ptftd made, he would spray the piano with spit and R||feen wipe it off with the sleeve of his left arm Jiluickly. Often, Pamela came in to watch, and whea ^she was in the room, his expression sudden^^k 11^ softness, his gentle, considerate teacher's voice ||jetuming. When we were alone, he spoke abruptly, Hlhad little patience, and complained continually ||about the difficulty he had turning a pebble into a H peari. ft was always on the tip of my tongue to tell H him I never asked him to perform any miracles, but P I swallowed back my pride and let him lash me H with ridicule and criticism. |hy One night, when Peter was sitting alone in die | living room and reading, 1 stopped in to talk to | "I tasted caviar," I said, "and I Mte it." | "What?" He looked at me, and then he smiled. | »'0h. Right" He nodded. ^ "I'm never going to be good on the piaao^' I 1E^ ^ ^1 V. C.ANDKSWS said. "Even the professor says my fingers area^ right. He says I'm too forceful and that I'd be bettial at drums or carpentry work." t| "Is that what he said?" ?eter laughed. "Well, jus| put up with it awhile longer until I get Pamela to thiak of something better." us "I don't want to be in beauty contests," I added,! "It can't hurt you to do it once or twice," he told me. "Look at it as a new experience." "No one else at the school is going to be in any | beauty contests, and there are girls in school who^ are really a lot prettier than I am. They're going t®| laugh at meand make from of me," I warned him. "Maybe youll win. Then they wont laugh." Th^ way he said it made me believe I really had ^ chance. Maybe Pamela we? right about me. "Wfll you and Pamela come to the home game this Saturday?" I asked. I had been mentioning it all week, but Pamela pretended she didn't hear me. "Sttte,^aesaid. He thought a moment. "I ought ; ^|0E-iH|igelfftvideo^c^^ tob^-He looked at iBe. "Don't expect me to become one of those crazy Little League parents, though." I laughed. When he brought up the game himself at dinner that evening, Pamela refused to go. "Do you know what damage is done to your skin sitting out there under that horrible sunlight and I letting all that dust come settling on you? When you come home," she said, fuming to me, "you make sure you go right into a bathtuband clean all 88 BROOKE pollution oat of yew pores and wash your thought intently for a moment and then only rose and came around the table. I^Let me see your hands," she ordered. I raised By palms, and she grabbed them and ran her lagers over them. |»,just as I thought," she said to Peter. ^HwUda Bigetting rough. Soon she'Bhave^iBa®!**'" y- ^ "Really?" he asked. He sounded amused, and I Iwldsee he was trying not to smile. I^Come over here and feel them. Come on." ph)^^ you." ; "This is just ridiculous. A daughter with hands lira ditch digger: I want you to come up, (o yy.. oom after dinner. I have a hand lotion you*& Bs^ ^ use continually. You rub it in four or five times a Jsy" " , -.,. '"' ^ ^"Pour times a day? Yau mean even while Tm at j^wjST I asked. fc'*0f course. How much longer will this baseball Jiaonsense continue?" She was beginning to pout. iK **We only have a few games left," I said. "I came on late in the season." ^"Good^' she muttered, and returned to her Pehair. . ^ .,,.^ , -. ^ .,,... I I was afraid to tell her that I had already agreed | |o try out for the girls' basketball team. The coach | ?aw me shooting baskets with some seniors and p asked me to come to tryouts next week. Besides . that. Coach Grossbard believed I might get chosen V. 0. ANDREWS fw the all-star game this year and have to go to^J special practice after the end of our softball season^ Sports were the one thing I knew I was good at--j and I didn't intend to give them up. ^ Peter decided that he would drive roe to my ganNgj on Saturday. I was dressed in my uniform when^B came bouncing down the stairs. Pamela was expecting her masseuse, but she was still downstairs giving Joline some instructions about a new juice drink that included herbs which she claimed retarded the aging process. As soon as she saw me: come down the stairs, she began a stream of; complaints. I "Is that their uniform? You're dressed like a boy» Why don't you wear a skirt, at least?" "They can't wear skirts, Pamela," Peter said» laughing. "Why not?" "They might have to slide into base. They haw to wear something practical." ""^Why don't they wear some decent color combination, then?" she followed. "These are the school colors," I explained. "Whoever picked them out is not very creative. Remember what I said you're to do as soon as you come home," she told me, and continued up the stairs, mumbling under her breath. "She's really very proud of you," Peter tried to assure me. "It's just that sports have never been important to her." On the way to the game, he talked about his own ^0 BROOKS UltUerest in sports and how he followed football and II "I play a mean game of tennis," he bragged. IpPne of these days, I'll take you to the dirt), and Hiem hit a few. Would you like that?" ^"Yes," I said. "I've always wanted to play tennis, J|ut we never had anyplace to play. My old school didn't have tennis courts, but Agnes Fodor does." ^ "Oreat. Now, that's a sport I might get Pamela gpteresLted in. She likes the outfits," he told sac. ^The outfits? I thought. They had the least to do B|vith why I would want to play or watch a sport. I Ij^egan to wonder if Pamela and I would ever ||mderstand each other. And wasn't that important? |||taving a mother who understood your dreams and ipteires, your hopes and wishes? ip As Peter and I neared the school, I thought about |||he team we would play today--they were unde- pated. The girls on their team did look tougher, ^ttoager, and hungrier. Their leadoff hitter was a HaB African-American giri who looked as if she ;could drive the ball through anyone in the infield. I rfsEw how the girls on my team stepped back when I i^arted to pitch, anticipating a line drive. However, :$look advantage other height and kept my pitches f tow. She went for two bad ones and missed, and the : third was a foul that our first baseman was able to 'catch. My team cheered, and the nervousness they had come to the field with settled. I grew stronger with every pitch. Once in a while, i gazed at the bleachers and saw Peter smiling at me. He had brought his new video camera and was 91 V. a ANDREWS filming the game. I had three hits that day, one » triple with two giris on base. It drove in what wastd be the winning run. | The other team looked stunned. My team gathered around me and cheered as if they had won tb€ World Series. As we left the field, I heard the other coach ask Coach Grossbard where she had gotten | the ringer. | fetes was really excited all the way home. "Wait | until I play the tape for Pamela. That last hit of | yours was a beaut, right between the right fielder | ^^^freenter fielder. How'd you do it?" '^^^eoaiai at my last school showed me how to turn my feet to place the ball," I explained. Peter was very impressed, and for the first time since t had moved in with him and Pamela, I felt proud of myself and confident that they could be proud of me. When we arrived home, Pamela was still soaking jUiJigi milk bath, something she did after every WifS^ Peter hurried in to tell her about the game. I showered, washed my hair, and changed, Peter wanted to take us to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. But first, he wanted to show Pamela some of the highlights from the game. I waited downstairs in the family room. The two of them finally appeared, Pamela looking radiant and beautiful. Peter put the tape in the machine and turned on the television set. "Did you wash your hair with that shampoo I bought you?" Pamela asked me--it was obvious 92 I BKOOKE mbc didn't care about how well Fd done in the |^Yes, I did." , She put her fingers through my hair and nodded. |*Ybu don't realize the damage the sun can do to JgBurhair." t "I wore a hat," I said. [^-"It doesn't cover your whole head, does^t?** % "Here she is. Watch this, PamelaT Peter crfed. It ;was when I had my first hit, a strong single to left. ^ She nodded. **Did you rub the skin lotion into |your hands?" I had forgotten, but I nodded. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion and felt my hands. ^ 'They're very dry." ' ', "Here's where she strikes oat their 'bSat ibm!" :Watch these three pitches. Look at ftat.'*' "You should go up and rub in the lotion,^ she said. ^Iwffl." " "Here it comes, Pamela, the triple. Watch this. There. Wow! That was the winning run." "She's developing muscles," Pamela said with a grimace. "What girl her age has muscles? Sports will make you too masculine," she warned. "Why do you insist on pursuing these silly sports?** I felt my heart sink. I had hoped that once she saw how good I was, she would not be so down on my participation in sports, but nothing Peter showed her on the tape seemed to impress her. "I'm hungry, Peter." she whined. 93 v.c.aniissws "Fine. We're ready. So what do you think?" Us asked. "We got a little Babe Ruth, huh?" ti "I'd rather have a little Cindy Crawford," shfe| quipped. "Hurry upstairs and do your hands,! Brooke," she ordered. - 'E I looked at Peter and then left the room. The^ were both waiting in the car when I returned. ] "Watd^your posture," Pamela complained from1 the ess window as I «j)proached. "You're hunching Over too much. It's your shoulders. They're getting J too big, probably from swinging that heavy stick of; wood." - **It*sxalled a bat," I muttered as I got in. ; She shot me a fiery look of irritation and then ; caught sight of herself reflected in the glass and worried about a redness in her right cheek all the way to the restaurant. Not another word was said about my softball game. For all she cared, I could have struck out every time at bat. 'Even Mrs. Talbot back at the orphanage had been prouder of me. Before dinner ended, I looked at Pamela and asked, "Did you ever play softball, Pamela?" Me? Of course not" Shesniffed. "Hardly." "Then how do you know you don*t like it?" I fb8owed. ^WhatF **It'stike if you never tasted caviar tut said you dont like it.** She looked at Peter. "Whatever is she saying?*' 94 Peter smiled, but I didn't smile back. And then, y the first time, I saw a dark shadow in his eyes 'hen he glanced at Pamela and then at me. I looked away and thought about the wonderful 'feeling that had traveled through me when I con£ nected at the plate and that ball went sailing. All rthe lotions, herbs, vitamins, and shampoos |®ouldn't make me feel better about myself than I | had at that moment. What would happen if Pamela | made me stop playing? Would I ever feel good ^about myself again? 95 Trial ty Pire ^3P Despite my lack of enthusiasm and my dislike of Professor Wertzman, I was able to play a crude rendition of "When the Saints Come Marching In" five weeks after I had begun my lessons. Pamela thought this proved I was talented enough to perform at the first pageant. As the reality of my actually participating in that event grew, she decided to begin instructing me on how to do what she called the Runway Walk. "The only difference is that instead of presenting some designer's new fashion, you're really presenting yourself," she explained. We used the long downstairs corridor in our house, and she immediately criticized the size of my steps. "You're plodding along like a robot, not walking. You've got to glide over that stage, float. Think of yourself as made of air. That's how I was taught. BROOKE soft, feminine, soft," she chanted as I re- id the journey from the front door to the ig room. "Glide. Don't move your anns so i, relax. Open your hands. You can't walk out Sth your fists clenched! You're not smiling, Srooke. Smile. Stop!" She thought a moment. "You can't look bored or |Bacomfortable, Brooke. Beauty must be ignited pnth enthusiasm. This is the motto I was taught, ^jmd you must learn and live it as well" 1; "I feel silly," I grumbled. |» "You must get over that. What you're doing is ;j&ot silly. It's professional. The judges must sense 'i that you have self-confidence." ,' "But I don't belong in a beauty pageant. fbi not ^beautiful," I insisted. - She raised her eyes to the ceiling and looked as if she was counting to ten. "All right," she said in a softer voice. "Come with me now." She walked briskly to the stairway and waited for me to catch up. Then she caught my hand in hers and took me up to her bedroom. "Sit," she said, pointing at her vanity table. I did so. "Look at yourself in that mirror. What do you think are your worst features?" "All of them," I moaned. "Wrong. Vsa have a great deal of raw beauty. Now, do as I say," she ordered, and pulled out her lip pencils. "Bold lips are back. Not every young woman can wear bold eye shadow, but most can easily wear a bold lip color. "If you knew anything about makeup and faces, 93 V. C. A1VDKEWS 1 you would know you dont haw what we call bee* | stung lips, so you should stay away from dark,j matte shades. You needcolors with more intensity* | Dark colors will make your mouth look smaller. | First, open your mouth." She demonstrated, ^llj want to line your lips fully." ' 1 I did what she said, and she began. "Good," she said, stepping back and scrutinizing | me, "I like to mix and match my lipsticks. In the ' morning. 111 begin with a matte lipstick. Then, later, rather than add more of that, which might tooteeakey. Ill smooth on either a clear gloss or lip iadm. Sometimes I try a sheer moisturizing lipstick or colored gloss," she lectured as she worked. She had my face turned to her so I didn't see everything she was doing, but she worked like aa artist and then said, "There." I turned and looked with surprise at my face. My lips were prominent now. "My mouth looks so different," I said. She mghed^ "Audrey Hepbum, who had thin lips, used to ' outline just lightly over the lip line like that. i Everyone has her own little tricks.*' She studied my image in the minor a moment "You can wear a dark eye liner, I think," she said. She continued to make up my face, powdering, working on my eyes, until she had what she wanted - and told me to took at myself again. ? "WeB?" she asked. "I look so..." "PrettyT kBROOKB raid to use that word. Did I dare think it? t. Am I pretty?" sen telling you that ever since I set eyes on ' that you are made up and see what you like, you should feel more comfortable ident about yourself. I want you to do he way of makeup every day so you tget , Brooke." lean put on makeup for school?" irse. That's why I bought all this for yen t here before you arrived. Every day from . want you to prepare your face as if you ring a beauty contest. That's what life is yway, a continually running beauty pag- one of the other girls wear makeup yet they'll think I'm trying to look older and fit in with he older giris," I complained. |g- **Let them think what they want. They don't r-lyive half the beauty I... I mean you do. Let's go," l|lie said. "Back downstairs to practice the runway tiwdknow." ' She paraded me back and forth in the hallway for nearly another hour, using music, showing me how to turn, to pause, to look out at the audience, to mate myself look seductive or innocent "Bwry contestant, every model, is really an actress, Brooke. You have to assume a persona. Think of yourself as someone special, and be that person for a while. Sometimes 1 imagined myself like Marilyn Monroe, and sometimes I was more V. C. ANDREWS subtle, an Ingrid Bergman or a Deborah Kef Nowadays, all the girls your age are trying to be lii one of those dreadful Spice Girls, bat you wiHTa someone unique. You will be... me," she di dared, and laughed. "Just keep studying me all til time, and it will come." Pamela's words scared me--she really did wai to make me into her, and my talents and wants pK didn't matter. I didn't understand--why couldn Pamela like me for me? And, if she wouldn't eve , like me, how would she ever come to love me? I Thenext day, I began to feel a little better when realized at least the kids at school liked me for tt real me. On the bus that morning, everyone wante to sit next to me and talk about the game. 1 homeroom, Mr. Rudley, who admitted he had y< to attend a school sports event, said he heard I had better show up at the next softball game. Tl I school had a star. I knew I was blushing all owe When I looked at the others, I saw Heather starta ^ at me. She looked so furious, it made my hea thump. [ At lunch, I received all sorts of invitations. I was asked to girls' houses, told about upcoming parti< and events, and invited to join clubs. Lisa Donah who was one of the school's best tennis player volunteered to give me instructions at her family ' tennis court. "'Ybu could come over next weekend," she saii ^Tm having a few friends over, including soff 100 BROOKE i from Brandon Pierce." I knew that was an all! school nearby. |s?Whom do you know at Brandon Pierce?" eather challenged. ?*My cousin Harrison, who's bringing a friend. fe might play doubles," she told me. lAM the girls looked envious. I had to admit that I H never played tennis before, ever. |**Never? How come?" Heather demanded, Ipon't your parents have a court?" She made a banis court sound as common as a bathroom. I^Yes." I said. r*so?" "I just never played." "Why wouldn't you play if you had acourt?";she untered, stepping forward to put her face right »to mine. "What's the difference?" Usa demanded. "Shell |na bow with a good teacher, me." The girls laughed, but Heather just stared at me ^ those small, beady eyes. Helen Baldwin bed in front of her to ask me something about social studies homewoik, and then Helen ted to talk about Lisa's cousin Harrison. "He's a sex maniac," she declared. Everyone aid attention aftershe blurted that. "Right, Lisa?" ^It's on his mind more than it is on other boys' (minds, I guess. When we were both seven and eight, Ae only wanted to play doctor whenever he came lower." "Did you play?" Eva asked. V. C. ANDREWS "No, but once he chased me all around property trying to get me to take off my pant "I wouldn't mind him taking off mine," mary said. The girls giggled. "Yes, you would," Heather charged. "Stop! to sound like a big shot." "He's good-looking. You said so yourself, f er. You said you wished he would look at you," 1 told her. "I did not. Liar." "What did you say, then?" Lisa questioned. Heather looked at the rest of us. "I said he wasting his time with that Paula Dworkins, thati all," Heather insisted. "I bet he'll like Brooke," Rosemary said. girls turned to me. "Why should he like me?" I asked. "He likes anyone new for a day or so," replied. "But once he sees you swing your bat, 1 fall head over heels in love," she added. **Yeaa, and with all that makeup you're wear youll be an easy target," Heather sniped at me. The girls cackled. Heather the loudest. "She's joking," Lisa said, "but he does like giris; who are into sports. I know. He told me." They: grew quiet. "That's why you want to learn tennis quickly," she said. "I imagine it won't take you long." "It seems very strange that your father would never teach you," Heather insisted. "Don't you get along with him?" BROOKS ad your own business," Helen said. f course we get along," I said. "He's just very " I was glad to turn the conversation away i the awful makeup Pamela had wade me wear t morning. lea&ersmirked. "That's exactly what my father l-every time I ask him to do something with i," she remarked. The only difference is that Brooke's father's not ig," Eva said, and the girls laughed hard again. I I to smile. Heather gazed at me. If her eyes could ew darts, I'd have been full of holes. The rest of the week went smoothly. Everyone more excited than ever at softball practice. I well on two tests, and my teachers gave me iphments on my efforts. Mrs. Harper actually iped me in the hall to tell me I was making a SiBry good transition. '^ ^Just stay on course," she told me. Her eyes were so fierce, it sounded like a warning. I thanked her and quickly moved on. f At home, I performed my piano lessons with an I aaitude of resignation. I had come to the conclu- I won it was something I had to do, like going to the ( bathroom. Professor Wertzman didn't think any | better of my playing, but he didn't criticize and complain as much as he usually did. Peter was away most of the week on a big case that took him to New York City. The conversations about school and other interesting things that were 103 V. C. ANDKEWS happening in the world disappeared from Pamela continued to use the meal as a clai developing my education in proper mealtime: ners. She was impressed that I had been invited; Lisa Donald's house for lunch and tennis. On own, she had found out that Lisa's father was < of the Donalds who owned the local depan store. "I just knew you would make friends with r of quality," she said. What did that mean, people of quality? t gave one person higher quality than another? Was i it just money? I hadn't found the girls at Agnes Fodo to be any nicer than the girls I knew at my publik school. They had the same hangups, problei worries, and complaints. Despite Mrs. Harper's resounding flattery compliments, I discovered that her girls, her feet girls, were not so perfect after all. They ^ a just more subtle, more^neaky about the things) ||. did. When the teacher left the room, they chea |T They passed notes, and they smoked in the f room, but they did it by the window so they could] i blow the smoke outside. Afterward, they alway» flushed the butts down the toilet. As far as graffiti went, someone wrote "Brooke wears a jock straps on my gym locker, and Coach Grossbard had to get the janitor to find some strong detergent to wash it . off. No one told Mrs. Harper. It was as if she had to be protected from any news of wrongdoing so she? could continue to believe her girls were perfect. ^"'Pester returned from New York on Friday night, ted Pamela had me do the runway walk for him. She made him sit in the high-back antique chair in p& hallway and watch like a judge at a beauty iebntest. I half expected him to burst out laughing jNten I began, but the look that came over him was sdifiercnt--I'd never seen him look at me so in- JBntly before. l. "Well?" Pamela asked as soon as I made my last |Bm. 3s "Amazing. You've done amazing work, Pamela. |a»e looks ... older." |, "Of course she does. She's more mature, more sophisticated and confident. She's been invited to Rooked thicker than the top, and there was a soft- tness in his cheeks and chin that made him look anore childish than handsome. "This is your Mickey Mantle?" Harrison asked ^th a laugh. His friend looked as if his face was made of putty and someone had stamped a smile ^onit. "Brooke, my cousin Harrison," Lisa said. "Hi," he said. "This is Brody Taylor. You know my cousin Lisa." "Yes, I do," Brody said. "Are you as good at tennis as you are at soft- bait?" Harrison asked me. „ "No. I just got my fast lesson." "From Lisar' He laughed. "That's like the blind teaching the blind." 109 V. C. ANDREWS "Really?" Lisa looked at me and smiled. "^ don't we startwith boys againstgiris?" "It wont even be a contest," Harrison braced.;3 "Wem chance it." ^ "What's the bet?" ^ "What do you want to bet?" i| **Yiiginity?" he quipped. 'i Lisa turned beet red, and Bjcody laughed, a soEfe| of sniffle laugh with the air being pushed out of his | nose and his body shaking. '.4 "you're still a; virgin?" I countered. It was as-iHJ weygsa@?f^apng tennis with words. Jl ^^N»<»B^Kan'ison turned crimson. "Okay, let'sy bet twenQr dollars," he suggested. ^ "Fine," Lisa replied. - ,"Twenty dollars! I don't have any money with me," I cried. "Don't worry about it," Lisa said. "You couldr always pay me back in school if we should lose."" "What do you mean, if you should lose? You mtaa* wften you lose," Harrispn said. Brody 8lB%|fcd again. "I don't even know the rules," I whispered to Lisa.. , ' ." }''"; "''""..' "Just keep the ball within the inside lines," she advised. She turned to Harrison. "Why don't you two warm up, then?" ^We dori*t need a wanhup, do we, Brody?*' He shrugged. Harrison removed las racquet from his case, and Brody did the same;They took their positions on the other side of the net. "I'll serve first," Lisa told me. ^ BROOKE |^ My heart was thumping, Twenty dollars! They |teked about it as if it were small change. I^We began to play. Harrison was good, but Brody |was slow. I saw the way he positioned himself and ^discovered quickly that he was usually off balance, i |tlteere were things that were common to all sports: | llpture, poise, conditioning, and timing. All I had ^ do was return the ball at Brody with some speed, |Mld be usually hit it out of bounds or int& th&aet. B^s we won set after set, Harrison's temper flared.' ^He directed his fury at Brody, which only made §him play worse. When Lisa and I won, Harrison Uteew his racquet across the lawn. £ "You lied," he said, pointing at Lisa. "What?" .. . - . ... . .r^-:^ .^ "You didn't just teach her how to pfa^. Nodose i josi learns and hits the ball like that." & "I didn't lie!" Lisa screamed, her hands on her Jfcps. "That's what she told me. Right, Brooke?" "It's true," I said, but he didn't look any more satisfied. "Let's forget the money," I added. "Who cares about the money?" he muttered. "Brody, give them twenty bucks," he ordered. "All twenty? Why do I have to give them all of it?" he whined. " "Because you let a couple of girls from Agnes Fodor make us look like fools, that's why." Brody dug into his pocket and came up with a Wad of bills. He peeled off two tens and handed them to Lisa, who took the money with a fat smile on her face. She handed me a ten. "I don't want it," I said. 112 "Because you lied, right?" Harrison shot at roe. "No, because I don't seed money and because played because I wanted to play for the fun of it. "Right," he said. "Let's get something to eat," h told Lisa. She couldn't stop smiling. Harrison retrieved Nil racquet, and we all went up to the house where ^ lunch had been set up for us. It looked lavish enough to be a wedding reception to me, but to them it was just another meal. There were so many choices--meats, breads, salads, and different pota^ toes. .1 "Where are your parents?" Harrison asked Lisas We sat at a patio table that had a tablecloth on it. Servants moved inconspicuously around us, cleaning up dishes, arranging foods. "Golf club," she said between bites, g The food was delicious. I tried to remember my' mealtime etiquette^ but I was too hungry and started to eat too fast. "Stawtsftot something?" Harrison asked me. ;:»n&»got to eat breakfast," I said, even though I hadn't. It was something Lisa or one of the other giris would say. He accepted it. "What took you so long to get here?" he inquired. "Pardon?" I looked at Lisa. "He means attending Agnes Fodor." "Oh. I don't know. I just... my parents just decided I belonged there," I said. He stared at me and then smiled. "Those real?" he asked. 112 BROOKS ^*What?" I asked. l"Those boobs, they real?" ^Harrison!" Usa squealed. ""Just asking. Nothing wrong with asking, is fee, Brody?" Hteody, who had his face buried in the lobster lad, looked up and shook his head. His cheeks g^ed with food. "Well?" Harrison pursued. "It's none of your business," I said. s*He laughed. "That usually means, no, right, lody?" |Brody nodded emphatically. -**What is he, your puppet?" I shot at him. Garrison laughed. "She's all right. Lisa. Better ian those other snot noses you call your friends," e said. He leaned over the table toward me. Maybe I'll invite you to my house for a little one- tone." "What?" "Tennis." He sat back, smiling. "Or did you ant to do something else?" "I don't want to do anything with you," I said. "What's the matter, worried about your virgini- '?" he quipped. Brody started to laugh. "No," I said. "My reputation." Brody paused and then laughed harder. "Shut up," Harrison snapped at him. Harrison turned and glared at me. "I don't ask yery girl to my house," he said. "That surprises me," I replied. Brody had to bite down on his lip to stop another 113 8 Bases Loaded ^0^ We lost our next game, but not because I struck | out or the other team got so many hits off me. Ourl team made too many errors, the big one being Cora ] Munsen's dropping of a fly ball with two on base. j The way she looked at me afterward gave me the] feeling she had done it on purpose just so 11 wouldn't look good. Coach Grossbard might have ] thought so, too. Afterward, in the locker room, she | kept asking Cora why she dropped it. "The sun wasn't in your eyes. You were in good position. What happened, Cora?" "I don't know," Cora said, eyes down. "Well, I don't understand. Anyone could have caught that ball," the coach insisted. Cora was silent. "Maybe she was too anxious," I said. "That's happened to me. I think about throwing the ball before I catch it." BROOKS . ft really didn't happen to we, but Fd seen it happen enough times to other girls. Cora looked up iSaickly. 1 "Yes," she said, grateful for the suggestion. "I Wk that was it." ^*The coach still looked suspicious. "Let's be sure it-doesn't happen against Westgate next Saturday. We've never come close to beating them, and they shut us out the last three times," Coach Grossbard |aid. ;y "It won't," Cora promised. L The coach put up posters with the words "Get !|Vestgate" on the locker-room walls during the week. I soon realized there was a real rivalry between the two schools, and pressure began to llount toward Saturday. It was hard for me to keep Say mind on my piano lessons and modeling lesions while doing my homework and attending practices. ^ During Wednesday's piano lesson. Professor HVertzman had a tantrum. "You seem to have forgotten everything. Such listakes are not made by someone who is suppos- fly practicing!" he accused. *-He jumped up and paced at the piano, shaking his head and looking at me furiously. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm trying.*' "No, you're not trying. I know when a student is trying. I made your mother promises, and you're making it impossible to keep them," he declared. r tears clouded my eyes. I lowered my head and waited for his fury to die down. 113 V. C. ANDREWS "I'll be a laughingstock," he muttered. "I have a| reputation to protect. My reputation is my Mve^ hood!" ?| "Fm trying," I moaned. "I'll try harder. promise." He stared at me with a look that made me feel if I wasn't fit even to be in his presence. My B began to tremble. Just then, Pamela entered. Rii after dinner, her beautician had come over to do i| treatment on her hair that she said would make 1tt| look fuller and richer. It didn't look any different to »me. .,1 **WBat*s going on in here?" she asked, her hands on her hips. ^ The professor looked at me and shook his head. , "I must have the full cooperation and attention of ^ my student if I am to succeed," he said, shifting his eyes toward me. "Brooke, aren't you trying?" "Yes," I said. "I am. I'm not as good as everyone thinks, that's all." "Who thinks that?" the professor muttered. "You can't be any good if you don't practice and pay attention. You are not practicing enough," he insisted. "I do practice. I do," I said. "Are you saying she needs more practice?" Pamela asked. "At the rate she is going, more practice is definitely needed. 1 would like to see her add at least another four hours a week," he prescribed. 118 BROOKE j^ & hit me like a tabtespoon of castor oil or a whip hkctoss my bade. "Four more hoursi When could I |do that?" II- Pamela stared coldly at me. "I think," she began Udowly, "considering the sacrifices and the expense a- and I are undertaking for your benefit, you Id at least find the time. She'll practice an itional four hours every Saturday from now ,** she declared firmly. The professor looked satisfied. ^ '"I can't practice any more on Saturday, especially not this coming Saturday. It's the biggest game of the year!" "dame?" the professor asked, looking at Pamela. , "Don't listen to anything she says. Professor Wertzman. Please, give her instructions on what you want her to practice and what you expect her to accomplish this coming Saturday." She turned back to me, her eyes like cold stones. *Tm filling out Ac application for the pageant's r first audition tonight, Brooke. You have to be ready fee every event. No," she said as I went to speak. "I don't want to say another word about it.'* "But Saturday is very important. Everyone's depending on me," I blurted despite her order. She stared and then looked up at the ceiling as if she were in great emotional pain. Without looking at me, she continued, "If there is any further problem or if the professor complains to me again, I will call Mrs. Harper and tell her you are forbid" den from being on any team, baseball, checkers, V. C. ANDKEWS anything," she threatened, her eyes stiti on th&| ceiling. Then she pivoted on her high heels and went cUp-dopping down the hallway. ^ The professor turned to me. "Turn the page," he| ordered, "and begin again." . | The tears in my eyes made the notes haay. ll sucked in my breath and tried to swallow down the, lump that was stuck in my throat, but it clung liken wad of chewing gum. I could hardly breathe. Still, Jfc; did what the professor asked. It was more like torture now, his breath on my face, his groans and slaps on the piano, but I endured every momenta terrified that he would complain to Pamela again. As soon as the lesson ended, I rose and ran from the room. I charged up the stairs, my feet pounding the steps so hard the beautiful stairway actuattyl shook. When I got to my room, I slammed the doot' behind me and sat at my desk filming. I was too angry to do any homework. Minutes later, there was a knock. "Ceat&in," I called, and Peter opened the door; "I saw you fly by the den and heard the house- coming down over my head. What's today's crisis?** "The professor thinks I'm doing terrible and wants me to add at least four more hours d practice. Pamela said I have to do it on Saturday, too, and I have the biggest game of the year oh Saturday. She said if I made any more trouble, she would tell Mrs. Harper to keep me off all the teams. It's not fair!" I cried. "That does sound severe," he agreed. Then he 120 BROOKE looked at me with his eyes brightening. "What About getting up earlier and practicing before yen. go to school?" ? "Practicing isn't going to help me. I'm go good at |&ino," I moaned. « "If you do it, 1*11 make sure Pamela doesn't caH SSfes. Harper," he said. ^ Another negotiation, I thought, another deal arranged by my lawyer foster father. I was getting '^f earlier now to do my makeup because Pamela wanted me to look beautiful. I might as well not go No sleep, I thought. But what choice did I have? A foster child who was soon to be legally adopted was "Site someone without any rights or even feelings. If [wanted parents and a home and a name, I had to |ie obedient. Pamela talked about my auditioning for the pageant, but what I was really doing was auditioning to be her daughter. ^-"Okay," I said. "I'll practice in the morning before breakfast, too." [jJ"Great, Another crisis solved," he announced with a snap of his fingers, and went downstairs to laeU Pamela how it would be. i.f jDespite my enthusiasm and determination, my new busy schedule took its toll on me. It was most difficult during my morning classes. I felt as if I was dragging myself through the halls and plopping iato my classroom seat like some old mop. Twice in English class, I actually dozed off for a few minutes, and Mr. Rudley had to step up to me and shake my 121 V. a ANDREWS shoulder after asking me a question. My eyes open, but I hadn't heard trim. I apologized^ course. Somehow, I came to life at softball pracd Maybe it was being back in the fresh air. It was third week in May now. The foliage was full, lu and richly green. Two nights of rain during week brought out the mayflies, however, and m of the .girls were complaining. The ground was sof even damp in spots. We all looked grimy by the en<| of a practice, mud splattered on our uniforms^ | faces, and hands, our hair sweaty, bug bites on our] j^gtsaad necks. ^ l^one of ft mattered to me. I felt I was at home, | but my teammates wanted Coach Grossbard to have the field sprayed and dried. Everywhere these rich, pampered girls went in life, they expected someone would change things cosmetieally to please them or make things easier. However, when I returned home that afternoon and Pamela saw the little red blotches on the bade of my neck, she went into a hysterical fit. At first, she thought it was caused by something I might have been eating. She accused me of sneaking candy bars at school. Then she thought I might be having an allergic reaction to something and started for the telephone to call her dermatologist. When I told her it was just a few mayflies, she stopped and stared at me as if I was crazy. "Mayflies? Mayflies. Bug bites! That's disgusting. Get upstairs and into the tub immediately. Don't you realize how this could play havoc with BROOKE complexion, and you with a pageaflt audition weeks away?" "The bites don't last long. Next time I'll wear ane bug repellent," I said calmly. That only made er more furious. "You. don't just spray chemicals on your skin like t. Do you see me doing such a thing? I thought I 1 you to study me, be like me. Upstairs," she ered, and followed me. She surprised me by scting me to her bathroom instead of mine, | There, she made me strip and go into her steam ^ loom. She flicked a switch, and the steam began to pour out until I could no longer even see the door. I felt as if I was being cooked and screamed that I had had enough, but the steam kept coming. I found the doorknob and discovered I couldn't open it "Pamela?" I called. "It's too hot!" The steam continued. I lay down on the floor, because that was the coolest place, and waited. Nearly ten minutes later, I heard the steam stop, and the door was opened. "Out!" she cried. I was dizzy and thought I might be sick, but still I stood there while she inspected my body. "Good," she said. "It was too hot in there." "It has to be that way to get out the poisons. Now you need your bath." Joline had been called to prepare it. After I got into the tub, Pamela began to scrub my skin with a stiff brush, making it redder in spots than the bug V. C. ANDREWS bites, I thought. She poured all sorts of different ofls into the water and shampooed my hair with i such vigor I thought my scalp would bleed. ^ I stepped out, exhausted, when she told me to, | and I barely had the strength to wipe myself down. I was taking too long, and she yelled at me to hurry up. "Blow dry your hair," she ordered. Before she wrapped the towel around me, she suddenly stared at my body with more interest than ever. "Whars wrong?" I asked. She shook her head. "It's still happening. In fact, it's getting worse. You look too... masculine. You don't have any soft places. Even your breasts are like little puffs of muscle." She grimaced, twisting her mouth, her eyes filling with concern. "I want you to see my doctor." "Doctor? Why?" **I don't think you're developing right," she declared. "Ill make an appointment." "I feel fine," I said. "You don't look right to me. Maybe you need some feminine hormones. I don't know. Let the doctor decide," she said, and left me. I was almost too weak to hold the hair dryer. When I'd dressed, I headed downstairs for dinner. The only way I could be more listless was to be asleep. Peter was away on another trip, and there was even a possibility he would not be back in time for the big game on Saturday. Pamela sat at the table and lectured me about the importance of protecting my skin. BROOKE "There is just so much makeup can do," she dared, "and some of these pageant judges get so >se, they can see the smallest imperfections. yn't think that doesn't play a role in their deci- is. It does. They see an ugly blemish on your k, they'll drop you a place no matter how well do in the other categories, especially the male ges." She stopped to take a breath and then tinned with her criticism. "Why aren't you sting?" "I lost my appetite because I was in the steam x»m too long," I said. That threw her into a new tirade. "It's not the team room. Removing poisons should mak» your |body more efficient. It's that stupid softball, stand" | ing out there in the hot, destructive sunlight, letting [yourself be feasted upon by bugs, filling your pores Iwith dirt. And you're not using the hand cream ^enough," she added. [ She stared at me, her fingers thumping the table as Joline moved as quietly and as quickly as she ; could around us, removing plates, straightening silverware, filling the water glass. I stared back at her. Mot a hair was out of place. Her makeup was perfect. She looked ready for a professional photo shoot. It occurred to me that she made a bigger effort to look pretty than the effort most people made to do their jobs well. Afterward, my piano lesson was grueling. Professor Wertzman seemed to sense my exhaustion as soon as I began. Instead of taking it easier on me, he made me do all my exercises repeatedly, finding 125 V. C. ANDREWS I 1 fault with everything as usual At one point, he| became so annoyed, he actually slapped my left hand. He didn't hurt me, but it was so surprising! and sharp, I felt an electric jolt in my heart and lost! my breath for a moment. ^ "No, no, no," he said. "No, no, no. Again.^ Again!" '| As usual, I was nearly in tears by the time thfr| lesson ended. When I went up to my room, I jugt| sat dazed and looked at my remaining homework. f| didn't have the energy to open the book, much less? begin the written work. I fell asleep at the desk and": woke with a start when I heard my door open. j "What are you doing?" Pamela demanded. ^ I rubbed my eyes and looked at my open text5 book. "Just finishing some math," I said. "I want to check your skin," she said, and inspected my neck. "I'm calling Mrs. Harper in the morning and making a formal complaint about all this. They shouldn't be permitting you girls out there until those bugs are gone." "No, please don't do that, Pamela. I'll keep my neck covered. I promise. There won't be any bites on me tomorrow. Please," I pleaded. "Ridiculous," she said. "All of it. Beautiful giris exposing themselves to such damage. Sports are for boys. Their skin is tougher than ours. Their muscles are bigger." "Lisa Donald and I beat her cousin Harrison and his friend at tennis the other day," I pointed out She stared at me again with that strange look in 126 I BROOKE i' Ilier eyes, a mixture of concern and bewilderment. j**l have heard where some girls because of hormone Ideficiencies actually think like boys. I'm beginning jjbq wonder if you have this medical condition. ^Instead of taking pride in beating them at tennis, ^you should be taking pride in the way they look at | you, at how you attract and capture their attenl*tion," she lectured. "Your doctor's appointment is ^next Tuesday, after school, so make sure you come [tight home." I "I don't need to see a doctor," I complained. "I'm your mother now, and I'm telling you I "want you to be checked by a doctor." She smiled cruelly. "I know you're not used to having someone care this much for you, Brooke, but that's what it 'means to have parents. You should be grateful and not rebellious. I'd like to hear a thank you once in a ^fhile instead of this constant stream of complaint. It's all because of your stupid involvement with that softball team." "I'm grateful. I just don't understand why I have to see a doctor. I'm not sick or anything." "Sometimes we go to see the doctor to prevent sickness. Don't you understand that? Well?" "Yes," I said, taking a breath and looking at my textbook. "Well, then?" "Thank you, Pamela." "That's better," she said. "Oh," she said at the door. "Peter called. He won't be home in time to attend the mosquito feasting this Saturday. You'll 127 have to arrange for transportation. I'm going to my dermatologist for a special Saturday appointment. He has something brand-new, a breakthrough rejuvenating skin treatment he wants to show me. Good night," she added, and left. I felt more dazed than tired now. My mind was reeling, all her statements, declarations, and ideas bouncing around like loose tennis balls. I knew 1 had done a poor job on my homework, and when it was returned to me a day later, I was given a failing grade. "If you don't pull your grade average up on the next unit test," Mr. Stemberg told me in front of the rest of the class, "you might not be able to participate in extracurricular activities next year." I knew that meant all sports. My heart felt like a deflated balloon. I looked at some of the girls. All but Heather looked concerned for me. She was smiling, her green eyes of envy brightening like the tips of two candle names. Even Cora Munsen felt sorry for me. After class, as we all left the room, she caught up with me in the hallway and whispered, "If you need any answers next Monday, just look at my paper," She sped away as Rosemary Gillian stepped behind me to whisper, "If you need your social studies homework, you can copy mine during lunch." I laughed to myself, remembering Mrs. Harper's introductory remarks. Girb at Agnes Fbdor don't cheat. They were the special girls, the cream of the crop, the sophisti- 128 11-cated, privileged, and cultured girls fram the best jliamilies. ^ Sorry, Mrs. Harper, I thought. The only thing I^Teally special about Agnes Fodor's School for Girls t-were the lies woven into the fabric of the school's l^emblem. 9 Smile 1 We had our biggest crowd attend the Saturday game. It couldn't have been a better day for a softball game. The sky was ice blue with an occasional cloud that looked like a puff of smoke. There was just enough of a cool breeze to keep everyone comfortable in the stands. Because I had no ride. Rosemary had her brother David come by with her to pick me up. David did not attend a private school. I thought that was odd until he explained he had made friends with kids who attended public school and didn't want to leave them. "I've got some friends over at Westgate, too," he told me soon after I got into the car. "They said there's more excitement about this game than some of the boys' games. For the first time in years, there might be a real contest." As it turned out, that was an understatement. 130 un girls at Westgate were stronger and more determined than any others we had played. It had Become a question of honor for them to defend ^heir school's string of victories against Agnes Ibdor. How could anyone lose to a school full of Spoiled, rich, bratty girls? ^ But our team was determined, too. Coach Gross- ||ard gave a great pep talk. ^ "Everyone out there thinks you're all a bunch of |(amby-pambies. They'll expect you to crack under jpressure and fall apart just as we have in the past, Upt there's a new spirit here, and each and every aide of you has improved," she said, gazing my way. ^fm proud of you girls. Go out there and show 4aem what you're really made of." & We cheered and took the field. I did my best pitching and kept them to a single hit through the Sfirst five innings. The problem was their pitcher, a ^all, dark, brown-haired girl with a body so muscu lar that it would put Pamela into a faint. She threw tenets, over the plate. I struck out twice. No one ,#as able to get a hit. Cora managed a fly ball, but it floated right to their center fielder. ^ An error on our side put a girl on base for them at the top of the last inning. The next girl struck 'oat, but the next hit was a short fly that fell between second base and our center fielder. Her throw managed to keep their runner on third. One of their better hitters came up. I took deep breaths and looked at the crowd. There was a hush of expecta tion. Some people looked as if they were holding their breath. I spotted Mr. Rudley in the stands. He smiled at me and held up his thumb. It would havQ been nice to see Peter there cheering me on, too, ij thought. My first pitch went wide, but my second was the low portion of the strike zone, and the batt went after it and missed. She fouled off my ne pitch. Then she hit a hard line drive right at me. ^ stood my ground and caught it even though it stung right through my glove. Instantly, I spun and threw] the ball to first. Their runner had gone too far ancfi couldn't get back in time. It was a double play. | Our fans roared. Parents, siblings, and friendsl were standing and cheering us as we came off the field. It was still anyone's game. Then our firstC batter struck out on three pitches, and our confidence began to fall. No one said it, but I could practically hear people thinking that we would be the ones who wore out first. I was up fourth, but someone would have to gel on base. Heather was up next. She struck out with her eyes closed, backing away from the plate so much she brought laughter and sarcasm from the other side. "What's the matter, honey, you afraid you'll mess up your makeup?" "Afraid you'll ruin your nose job?" "Watch yourself. That ball's got your name on it' Chicken Girl." Laughter rippled through the crowd in waves. Despite our good showing, they still saw us as a joke. I saw how my teammates were taking it to 132 y "She's pitching a little more inside. Just step back and try to hit it to right field," I suggested. She dded and took her stance. The first pitch was too v, but the second was right where I expected it t»ould be. Eva stepped back and swung. It was a solid hit that bounced hard in front of the first |baseman. She misjudged it, and it went over her s&ead and into right field. We had a runner on first. [- I looked at Coach Grossbard, who had heard me ;yve Eva the advice. ? "She's smart," she said, referring to the pitcher, ^'but she's not going to give you anything good." ^ I nodded and went to the plate. Once again, a hash came over our fans. The pitcher tried to get me to go after two pitches that were low and away, but I held back. The next pitch was coming in perfectly over the outside corner. It was the sort of pitch that required strength to hit. I leaned to the right and came around, catching the ball just down from the top of the bat enough to get a solid connection. It soared. And soared over the left fielder's head, and it kept going, clearing the fence. I had hit a home run. I had been to ball games at public school, especially exciting basketball games when the crowd's roar was so high and loud my ears rang. That was the way it was now. As I rounded the bases, our 133 V. C. ANDREWS side was screaming so loud it actually made my] ears hurt. Mr. Rudley had a big, wide grin on hi&j face, and Coach Grossbard ... Coach Grossbards had tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as II passed her between third and home plate, j Cora gave me a hug that nearly cracked my ribs. Everyone on the team was around me. Heather hanging on the perimeter with a plastic smile oft her face. I couldn't remember when in my life I wasi more excited and proud of myself. The crowd wast full of appreciation, but sadly, neither my new; mother nor my new father had been there to see it. I was as alone as I had ever been, even now, even when I wanted parents so much it made my heart" ache. j Lisa Donald announced a victory party at her^ house. Everyone on the team was invited, of I course, even Coach Orossbard. It was to be a| barbeque. When I returned home, I rushed into the ' house, hoping my invitation to Lisa*s might get 1 Pamela to see how important all this was to me and; perhaps make her proud of my accomplishments finally. Instead, I found her in a mad tizzy. Peter wasn't coming home as eariy as she had expected, and |f ^ before I had a chance to tell her anything, she cried, "Everything's falling apart?" "What's wrong?" I asked, standing in the entryway, holding my glove and the winning ball in my hand. Everyone on the team had signed it. Coach Grossbard's signature biggest of all. The date of the game was there as well. BROOKE "Your pageant audition has been confirmed, but iw I could have forgotten the most important Klidng, I don't know. It's probably because of all the Ipinnoil surrounding your piano lessons," she con- |ehided, popping my bubble of excitement. | "What important thing?" I asked. ^ "Yow pictures! Your photographs! Oh, where is Use? Where is he?" she cried toward the doorway. ^ "Who? Peter?" [ "No, not Peter. The photographer. I told him to '%e here and get set up before you returned. I want Rtfae pictures taken in the atrium outside the living- |teom patio doors. Those flowers will provide a t colorful background. It will just look more... I loyal and make you seem more of a princess. Well, B| why are you just standing there?" she screamed. "Go upstairs and get the grime out of your skin. Bathe, shampoo, and start on your makeup. We've got to be ready in an hour." "Don't you want to know what happened at the game?" I asked. "Game? What game? You mean the, what do you call it, softball game?" "Yes. We won. I hit a home run in the last inning and won the game. It was like tile World Series or something. There were a lot of people there, more than ever, teachers, too. I pitched great. There's a party to celebrate at Lisa Donald's house. Everyone on the team is coming. Our teachers and parents are invited, too." "Who has time for that? Are you mad? This photo shoot will take hours. We can't submit just V. C. ASDREWS any pictures to the pageant judges. These have to I professional, photos taken the way a model tal them. Would you stop wasting time and go up a get ready. I'll be along to choose what you shoi wear. Of course, well have you wear more than a outfit. And the bathing suit I bought you last week. | Go, go, go," she cried, waving at the stairway. ^ I gazed down at the softball. What was the points of showing it to her? She might have it thrown into] B the washing machine. I started up the stairway. _| "Can we at least go to the party when we'rri finished?" d "We'll see," she said. "I can't be thinking aboufej any of that right now. Joline! Joline!" she cried. "Yes, ma'am." "Get up there and draw her bath. Quickly." "Yes, ma'am," Joline said, and hurried to thel stairway. She passed me by and was in the battKi room, fixing my bath of oils before I even took off my uniform. I just sat there, dazed. I was certainly in no mood to pose as a model for beauty pageant pictures. I had come home on a cloud and now felt as if I was being dragged by my hair to be propped up on some stage surrounded by strangers, gaping at me with numbers in their eyes. Naturally, I wasn't moving fast enough for Pamela. When she came bursting into my room, I was just sitting at the vanity table to blow dry my hair. "Aren't you ready yet?" she screamed. "You can run like the wind around those stupid bases at a ball game, but when it comes to getting ready for BROOKS ing really important, you're a turtle," she it me as she crossed the room to my closet. y ball game is really important," I insisted, flooding into my spine. She ignored me and through the clothes hanging in my closet. want something with color, and yet I want to s a simple statement of your beauty." *Tm not beautiful," I muttered, mostly to my- K:self. She heard me, though, and whipped around. ;op that! I don't want to hear that anymore. I d you, if you tell yourself you're not beautiful, i won't be. Attitude comes through. Why have I ;n working so hard with you, training you on B3 sit, to walk, to talk, to hold your head, even n your eyes, if I didn't believe you were [ful? Pictures don't lie, either, so you had change your attitude before you go down1 want to see that effervescence, life, youth, syes radiating with confidence. Stop staring at she yelled. "Get your hair brushed and your ip done!" "Okay," I said. "Don't say okay. Say yes. Don't you remember what I told you? Okay is too... inferior," she declared for lack of another term. She pulled out what she wanted me to wear and then found my new bathing suit. *The photographer has arrived. He's a highly regarded professional. He's setting up in the atrium right now. I'll discuss with him what you should wear first and then return. By the time 1 do, you 237 V. C. ANDREWS should be ready to put on your dress. Under* stand?" she demanded. ^ "Yes, but if we do finish in time, can I go to the victory party? Please?" 4 "We'll see," she said, and stormed out of the room. I gazed at the dock. The team members and] their families were just starting to arrive at Lisa's, and I was trapped at home. My only hope was to cooperate and get it done as fast as possible. I was ready when Pamela returned. She told me to put on the light blue dress with the V-neck collar; She made sure my padded bra embellished my small bosom and then brought me a thin string off her own pearls to wear. After I was dressed, she:U stood me in front of the mirror and fixed my hair. 'm "You look flushed. I knew this would happen. ij knew you would get too much sun out on that ball field and ruin your complexion," she said, and made me sit while she adjusted my makeup until; she was satisfied. It took almost a half hour. "When is Peter coming home?" I asked on the way down. "I don't remember," she said. "Later," she muttered. I was hoping he would arrive before the photo shoot ended and would agree to take me to the party. The photographer was a pleasant young man with dark curly hair. His name was William Daniels From the way Pamela had raved about him, I expected someone much older and more experienced. When William began, however, I saw that he BROOKE really knew what he was doing. Every time Pamela I Biade a suggestion, he calmly pointed out why it Jswouldn't work, why the lighting would be wrong, ||why my profile wouldn't tee as complimented, or j|why the backdrop would lose its value. ||| William sensed how tense and unhappy I was H immediately and did what he could to make me Ir'relax. ' ' |^ "Don't fight it," he whispered while he was I adjusting my posture. "We'll get finished faster if g^you relax and just let it happen." S He was right, of course, and I stopped wishing ; and hoping it would be over. ; "Great, good. That's it," he kept saying. Pamela | relaxed more, too. H I hurried upstairs to change my dress, but when I | returned, Pamela didn't like the way my hair had lost its shape and made William wait while she brushed it again until it satisfied her. We had been working nearly an hour and a half. I knew the party was in full swing at Lisa's by now, and I imagined they were all wondering when I would arrive. Heather was probably telling them that I wanted to make a special entrance and was being late deliberately. That was something she would do. Pamela had even more problems with my bathing suit picture. As soon as I put on the suit, she groaned. "Can't you stop those muscles from popping out in your legs?" 139 V. C. ANDREWS "I'm not doing anything," I said. "Is there anything you can do?" she asked Wttliam. He studied me a moment, adjusted my stance, and shook his head. "She's got a great little body, Mrs. Thompson. I don't see why you want to hide it." "They'll think she's one of those women bodybuilders or something. Who wants an Amazon to be Miss America?" she snapped. "Relax your arms," she told me. I tried to stand as loosely as I could, but nothing I i did satisfied her. | "They'll hate this shot," she muttered. "Let's just see," William said. "I might be able to touch it up here and there." "That'll work for pictures, but not when she's walking on the stage in the flesh," she moaned. He stared at her, waiting. '' "All right, all right. Do what you can," she said | with a wave of her hand, and he began. Finally, the photo shoot ended. I ran upstairs to I change into a pair of slacks and a blouse. I was back I before William had put away all his equipment. | "Can we go to the party now, Pamela?" I asked, barely containing my excitement. ; "I have a horrible headache from all this tension and trouble,'^ she said, shaking her head. "It would ^ take me hours to get ready for any public appear; ance." i "But... everyone's expecting me. I promised I'd be there. Please," I begged. 240 I BROOKS I "I can drop her off," William offered. | I looked at Pamela. I "Fine," she said tightly. | "Thank you, Pamela. Thank you," I cried, and | actually helped William get his equipment loaded ^ just so we would leave faster. I- "What's the occasion for the party?" he asked | me as we drove off, I? I told him, and he smiled, very impressed. Why | couldn't my parents be this way? I thought. He told | me about himself, that he was married and had a 'f pair of twin four-year-old girls. I "They're as cute as two peas in a pod," he said. | "I'm always taking pictures of them, as you can I imagine, but I wouldn't want them to be in any t beauty pageants. They're even having pageants for | five-year-olds these days, dressing them and putting " makeup on them to make them look older. It's out i of hand." "I don't want to be in one, either," I muttered. ^'1 could tell," he said, smiling. "But, hey, if it wasn't for people like your mother, I wouldn't be making a good living," he added, and laughed. Talking to him helped me relax. When he saw the Donalds' house, he whistled. "Don't you hang out with fancy people," he teased. "As they say, it's better to be born rich than born." If he only knew the truth, I thought, and laughed to myself. I thanked him for the ride and stepped out of the car, Being late did result in a big welcome for me. As soon as I was spotted, the party came to a hush, and 141 Sheer Satisfaction I felt as if I was floating above the party and not really a part of it. Never in Ay life had so many people thought so highly of me. At my public school, there were many girls who were good at sports, and I was always seen as just one of those girls from the orphanage, which was something that diminished my achievements. I couldn't help feeling special here. I lived in a house as big as or bigger than most of the other giris} I wore clothing that was just as expensive as, if not more expensive than, theirs. No one could took down on me and lessen my achievements with the simple words, "One of them." I knew I was letting my head get too big. Lisa's brother and his friends had me surrounded most of the time. I was still wearing what anyone else would probably call stage makeup. I imagined everyone thought I had doctored up my face just for the V. C. ANDREWS party. I was too embarrassed to tell my girlfriends about the beauty pageant, so I said nothing. However, I saw the looks of envy on some of my classmates as the boys vied for position, tried to do me favors, get me food or something to drink, and then tried to impress me with their stories and jokes. Soon after I arrived. Lisa and Eva pulled me away, and we joined the other girls in the house to giggle and talk about the boys. For the first time in my life, I felt like somebody in the eyes of my classmates. I could even put up with all of Pamela's demands just so I could keep this moment and this opportunity. Later, shortly before the party was drawing to its conclusion. Heather stepped up beside me and leaned over to whisper. "I've got to talk to you," she said. "I have something very important to tell you that can't wait." "Now?" She nodded and walked away. Heather had been ignoring me most of the evening, so I was surprised at her urgency. I followed her until we were far enough from everyone to speak privately. "What is it?" I said, gazing back at the party. I wished it could go on forever, the music, the lights, the great food and excitement. "I just overheard my aunt talking about you," she said. It was as if we were in a movie and suddenly the camera stopped and the picture began to melt on 1 BROOKE the screen. The party actually turned hazy as my .eyes clouded with fear. ; "What do you mean?" I asked in a breathy, thin " voice. "I know you're an orphan and your parents are sot really your parents," she said. "'Vbu never even saw your real mother, and you don't have a real father. You know what they call someone without a father?" I shook my head. "I don't want to hear it," I said. She smiled coldly. "I just thought you should know that I know," she said, full of self- satisfaction. Her smile faded and was quickly replaced with a look of rage. "No wonder you play sports like a boy." "What does that have to do with anything?" She smirked as if I should know. "Just don't act like such a big shot around me," she warned, and walked away. My heart was pounding. The me I imagined floating above the victory celebration slowly sank down to earth. With trembling legs, I rejoined the party, but I didn't really listen to anyone or hear the music. Every once in a while, I caught sight of Heather staring at me and smiling, her eyes full of satisfaction. In fact, I was grateful when Peter arrived to take me home. He was introduced to people who immediately congratulated him on my achievements. "I'm so sorry I missed the game," he told me as we started for the car. "From the way everyone was talking, you were really something. Didn't you tell 145 V. C. ASDS3SWS Pamela? She didn't mention a word of it when I stepped into the house." "I tried, but she was too concerned about my photographs. I almost missed the victory party," I complained. "She just doesn't realize... I'll explain it to her," he promised. "Slugger," he added with a big smile. He.sensed something wasn't right. "What's wrong?" "I'm just tired, I guess," I told him. I desperately wanted to keep anything from spoiling this day and this night. "No wonder. Catching up on schoolwork, keeping up, learning how to play piano, bringing the girls' softball team to victories ... talk about an overachiever. I'm proud of you, Brooke. I really am," he said. It made me feel better. Pamela was already in bed when we returned. He hurried up to tell her more about the ball game and make her understand. I went to bed, and when my head finally hit the pillow, I felt as if my body had turned to lead. 1 sank into a deep sleep and didn't wake up until the sunlight hit my face in the morning. Peter received a phone call early in the morning (hat ruined his Sunday. Bven before I went down to breakfast, he had to leave to go to his office. It made Pamela angry, and she was in a sulk. I spent my time catching up on studying for exams, I didn't get half as many phone calls as 1 had expected. Peter 146 BROOKE didn't get home until nearly dinner, and I could tell that there was still a lot of tension between him and Pamela* It was one of the quietest meals since I had arrived. All of it caught up with me that night, and I fell asleep with my books in my lap. When I woke Monday morning, it was later than usual, so I had to skip my piano practice and I didn't spend half as much time on my makeup. Fortunately, Pamela was sleeping late and didn't get a chance to inspect me as she often did before I went off to school. She did, however, leave word with Peter to remind me that I had a doctor's appointment after school tomorrow. I told him I thought it was silly. There , was nothing wrong with me. "It doesn't hurt to get yourself a checkup," he said. "Think of it as that." If there was a compromise in the wind, Peter would smell it, I thought Anyway, at the moment, j he was obviously avoiding any more arguments | with Pamela. I fete something different in the air soon after I attended homeroom. Everyone has to come down from a peak of excitement, I thought, and this was what it was like. We were back to our usual day of work. The victory was already fading into the past, and there were looming final exams to consider and new work to do. 1 was late for lunch because I had remained after class to talk about a math problem. When I arrived in the cafeteria, I heard what seemed like a little 147 V. C. ANDREWS '"IS hush in conversation, and when I looked at~^| giris, some of them dropped their eyes guiltl(|| Why? I wondered. I got my food and joined o||| new friends at the table. 1| "I thought Mr. Brazil was going to keep me righ| through lunch period," I said, laughing. "You kno|j how slowly he talks." Eva smiled, but no one els|| did. | I started to eat and noticed everyone was beifl|| rather silent. "Is something wrong?" I asked. "I No one replied. It was as if I wasn't even thererj The bell rang to move on to class almost before K had finished my lunch. Everyone started to mowe^ away. * I reached out and seized Lisa's wrist. "What's th& matter with everyone today? They act like someone ^ died," I said. She gazed at the girls who were moving toward the door. "Someone did," she quipped. "What does that mean? Who died?" "Many of the girls think you're a phony," she replied coolly. "A phony? Why?" "Because you never told anyone you were adopted," she said. "Oh," I said, looking at the back of Heather Harper's head. She was laughing loudly. "Well, why did I have to announce that?" I asked. "You didn't have to announce it, but you didn't have to pretend you were someone you're not," she replied. 148 p*Yes, I did," I snapped bade at her. "Especially |a«, where everyone judges everyone by how Inch money her father makes or how big her pints' house is." I^Riat's not true." ^ **It is," I insisted. NUsa glared at me. "You probably knew how to |rfay tennis all along, too," she said. "You made me Hook stupid." p "What?" t She started away. ^ **I didn't know. How could I know? Do you think Fwe had a tennis court at my orphanage?" I shouted at her. Some of the other girls looked back, but no one remained to walk to class with me. Less than forty-eight hours ago, I thought, I was a school hero. Today, I'm a school pariah. Once, when I complained that some of the other kids at my school made me feel inferior, one of my counselors at the orphanage told me sometimes you're respected more because of the nature of the people who dislike you. She was right. If anything, I was angry at myself for trying too hard to be like these girls. No matter how much money Pamela and Peter had, how much money they spent on my clothes, how many pageants I would enter, how big our car and our house were, I would never be like these girls. I felt as if I was born and had lived in a different country. I practically spoke a different language. I put my head down and went forward. I worked 149 V. C. ANDREWS hard in my classes the rest of the day. I ignoi everyone. Most of the other girls were polite, if I overly friendly, but even my teachers seemed ferent to me. Maybe it was my imagination. M I was feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, I had to look forward to. My dark, heavy mood was lifted from my shottt| ders when I went to physical education class. Coadtj Grossbard called me to her office before I dresset| for gym. She was sitting behind her desk with a^ huge grin on her face. , "I just received a nice phone call a half hour ago' and waited for you to attend class," she said. What could this be? I wondered. Did she just i and out I was an orphan, and that somehow made her happy? "What does it have to do with me?" I asked. "Everything," she said. "You were chosen by the league to be on the all-star team for the county's all- star game. In fact, you're probably going to be the starting pitcher." "Really? All-stars?" She nodded. "I never had a pupil make an all- star team before. Congratulations, Brooke," she said, rising. Instead of shaking my hand, she hugged me. I couldn't help crying. "Hey, this is supposed to be a happy occasion," she said, laughing, but there was just too much emotional baggage for me to carry. I bawled harder. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked, making me sit. BROOKS ^ I told her as quickly as I could. She sat back and listened, her face turning red with anger. "They should call this place Agnes Fbdor's School for illnobs," she said. "You must not let them get you pdown. They're all just jealous, that's all." | "No, they're not," I said. "There's nothing to be IjiKalous about. They have real families." I' "'You're twice the person any of them are, honey. Real families or not. People are going to judge you for yourself and not because of your family name. Youll see," she promised. "If you don't feel like dressing for class today, you can skip it," she said. "Just rest up." "No," I said, brushing the tears from my cheeks and taking a deep breath. "I'll be all right." She smiled. "All-star. Wow!" she said. It did buoy me, and I felt much stronger when I left the building than when 1 had entered. The word hadn't gotten out about me yet, but I didn't think my new so-called friends would be as happy about it as they would have been a few days ago. I tried not to think about it. Pamela wasn't home when I returned. I went to my room and started on my homework, but my excitement was so great I couldn't concentrate very well. Finally, I heard footsteps on the stairway and stepped out to see Joline coming up, her arms loaded with packages. Pamela followed soon after. **I had to get myself some new things to wear to the pageant," she told me when she paused in the hallway. "Its important that I stay in fashion, too. They take pictures of the mothers and daughters." V. C. ANDREWS "I have something to tell you," I said. I knew how important it had been to her that no one knew the truth about me. "The girls have found out about me. They know I'm a foster child in the process of being adopted." "What? How could that happen?" "Heather Harper overheard her aunt talking to someone and told everyone," I said. "They're a bunch of snobs. I hate them. I hate that school, except for Coach Grossbard. Even the teachers are looking at me differently," I wailed. She stared, furious. "Wait until I tell Peter. We'll sue her for being a gossip," she declared. "What good wfll that do me?" I asked, but she didn't reply. She turned and charged back down the stairway. A little over an hour later, Peter came home. I heard their raised voices below and went down to find them in the den. Peter looked overwrought, his face flushed, his hair disheveled. "There's no ground on which to sue anyone," he told me as soon as I entered. "I don't want you to do that, Peter. It wouldn't help," I said. "She's right, Pamela. Let's forget about it." "I won't forget about it. That woman is going to get a piece of my mind. I'll speak to the trustees. She should be fired for doing this." "It's over and done with," Peter said. "I don't want to go there next year," I said. Pamela looked up sharply. "What do you mean? Where would you go, a public school?" she asked, her lips twisted. BROOKE "I don't care. I hate those giris. And soon they're ; going to be even more jealous of me," I added. Peter raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?" "I've been selected to be on the county's all-star team. I'm going to be the starting pitcher in the game," I told him. He beamed a wide grin. "Brooke, that's fantastic! I'm so proud of you!" He stood up and hugged me. "What kind of an accomplishment i? that?" Pamela muttered. "It's the biggest, most important thing that's ever i happened to me," I said. She smirked and shook her head. "I can't take all ;; this tension. It's bad for my complexion," she complained. She stood. "I need to sit in my electric massage chair before dinner." "WeH, I'm thrilled for you, honey. When is the game?" Peter asked. I told him, and Pamela stopped walking out. She turned and looked at me. "What did you say? When is that silly event?" I repeated the date. "You can't go to that," she said. "Don't you realize what that date is? Have I been talking to myself for weeks and weeks? That's the date of your audition for the pageant. It's all arranged." . "No," I said, shaking my head. I looked at Peter, i but he looked worried. Surely, he would come up | with one of his ingenious compromises, I thought. "I've been selected from all the girls in all the schools. It's a great honor." "That's no honor," Pamela declared. "How can V. C. ANDREWS you compare throwing a softball to winning a, pageant?" 1 "I don't care. I'm playing. I've been chosen. I'm: not going to the pageant." "You absolutely are," she said. "I'm going to the phone immediately and call that big-mouth prince pal. I'll tell her that I absolutely forbid your participation, and if she doesn't obey me, I'll warn her that I'm going to the trustees about her gossiping." "Pamela," Peter said softly. "What? You're not thinking of permitting her to go to the ball game instead of the pageant, are you? Look at all I've been doing, what we've spent, the piano lessons, the work, the pictures!" "Maybe we can get her a different audition," he said, still speaking softly. "You know we can't do that. You know how hard it was to arrange for this." She turned to me. "You're going to the pageant. Forget about that ball game. You're a girl. You're a beautiful young woman. You're not some ... some Amazon. I won't have it!" she screamed. "I'm Pamela Thompson. My daughter is going to be a pageant winner." "No, I'm not. I'm not," I yelled back at her, and ran out of the den. "I'm calling Mrs. Harper right now," she screamed at me as L charged up the stairway. "I'm calling her! You can put that game out of your mind, Brooke. Do youAear me?" I slammed my door closed and locked it. Then I threw myself on my bed and buried my feee in my pillow until I couldn't breathe. BROOKE Why did this have to happen to me? I sat up and stared at my image in the vanity 1?le mirror. Why was I born if I was to suffer like is? Why did people have children they didn't int? When Pamela came to the orphanage and saw |aae, she didn't see me. She saw herself. She saw j what she wanted me to be, and then she brought me ; here and tried to make me into the girl she had seen. I'm not that girl. I'll never be that girl, I told F aay image in the mirror. The makeup I had been wearing had streaked under my tears. I wiped the lipstick off and then, in a rage, went into the bathroom and washed my face "until my skin burned. Afterward, I came out and looked at myself again. I practically ripped offiBay blouse and tore away the padded bra. I rifled through my drawers until I found the faded pink ribbon my mother had left with me, and I tied up my hair. Then I put on my blouse again and sat fuming. I heard footsteps outside my door. "Why is this door locked?" Pamela cried. "I don't want to talk to anyone," I said. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Harper. You can forget that game. It's all taken care of. Now, stop this nonsense immediately. I want to talk to you about the audition. I have other things to explain." The tears streaked down my cheeks again. Irfy shoulders felt so heavy. Everyone looked down on me at the school, and 255 V. a ANDREWS now I was losing the one big accomplishment I had achieved. Coach Grossbard would be so disappointed, too. "Brookel Do you hear me?" I felt something shatter inside me. It was as if my body was made of glass and the glass had cracked. Soon, I would just crumble to the floor, and when J she did come in, she would only find a pile of broken pieces. "Brooke!" The more she yelled, the more I felt as if I was | coming apart. I reached out and seized the scissors I in front of me, and then, taking fistfuls of my hair ] into my hand, I began to hack away at the strands, ' dropping clumps of it on the table, cutting and snipping away above the old, faded ribbon, slicing . my hair without design until I could even see my scalp showing in places. , Pamela was pounding on the door, screaming my . name, threatening, lecturing. I could hear Peter , behind her, pleading, asking her to calm down. When I was finished, I laid the scissors down softly on the table, rose, and quietly, like a shadow, floated across the room to the door. I unlocked it and then opened it. When she saw me, her eyes nearly exploded. Her mouth opened and closed without a sound at first, and then she put her hands against her own temples and screamed louder than I could ever imagine myself screaming. Her effort turned her face blood red, and her body shook violently, denying what she saw, refusing to believe. 156 BROOKE | Peter stepped around her to look at me and fell I into shock himself. | Pamela's eyes went into the top of her head. She | threw her hands toward the ceiling and collapsed | into his arms. a I closed the door softly. ^ 157 Epilogue ^ It's better for you," Peter said. The grandfather clock's ticking seemed so much louder. Peter sat across from me in the plush living room, his hands clasped as he leaned toward me. He looked very tired, his perennial tan had faded, and his hair was slightly messed up. He wore no tie. His collar was open and his brown sports jacket undone. I almost felt sorrier for him than I did for myself. I knew how bad a time he was having with Pamela. A parade of doctors and health-related people had come through the house, marching up the stairs to her room to give her massages, skin and hair treatments, nutritional guidance. There ^| was even a meditation specialist who spent hours with her. She claimed I had aged her years in minutes and it would take months to cure the V. C. ANDKEWS degeneration. She even complained of heart trouble. I had yet to say another word to her or she to me. "No one wants to make you live where you're uncomfortable," Peter continued. "Or go to school where you're unhappy," he added. I looked at him, and he had to took away. People who lie to themselves have a hard time looking at other people directly. They are afraid that their eyes will reveal the self-deceptions. After my tantrum, Peter wanted to take me to a doctor, too. I refused. Actually, I felt fine, even somewhat stronger. It was as if I had thrown a weight off my shoulders. I had been trying to fit myself into a mold that simply did not fit. What I wished at this moment was that I had my old clothes back. I still wore my old ribbon around my head. I wouldn't take it off. Peter sat back thoughtfully. The clock ticked. Sacket appeared in the doorway. "The car has arrived for Miss Brooke, Mr. Thompson. Should I begin to load the trunk?" "Yes, please, Sacket," Peter said. I had told him that I didn't want my new things, but Peter insisted I take them. "What you do with them afterward is your business, Brooke, but they are yours." I was adamant about not taking a single tube of lipstick. The way I felt, I didn't know whether I would ever put on any makeup again. "Are you all right to travel?" Peter asked me. 160 BSOOKE I nearly laughed. I looked away and then stood up. He had hired a limousine to take me to the foster home. All I knew was it was a group foster home run by a couple who used to run it as a tourist house. Supposedly, there were at least a dozen children of various ages already there. Peter was told, and he tried to convince me, that it was only a temporary situation. Other, more personalized homes were being sought, and I would soon have another set of foster parents, maybe even adoptive parents. I couldn't help thinking about my mother and dreaming that she was the one waiting for me outside. She had heard about my situation, and she had come from wherever she lived to claim me. Now she was waiting outside in her car, and in a moment I would set eyes on her for the first time. It was a wonderful fantasy, one that helped me walk with determination and confidence, something Pamela would be proud to see, I thought. That brought a smile to my face and confused Peter, who watched me with a strange half-smile of his own. "I've arranged for you to have some money," he told me at the door. "It's been deposited in the bank." I almost said, "I earned it," but instead held my tongue and stepped outside. It was a gray, overcast day with a stiff breeze that lifted the remaining strands of my hair from my forehead. If 161 V. C. ANDREWS had been Peter's idea to buy me a baseball cap. I put it on. He had spared no expense on the limousine, I thought. It was a long, sleek black car with a driver in uniform. He stepped out and waited. "You're an exceptional young lady, Brooke," Peter said. "Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise. Whatever you set your mind on doing, I'm sure you'll do. Maybe you'll become a lawyer someday and come to my firm." "I don't think so," I said. It wiped the smile from his face. He looked sad enough to cry< "I wanted better things for you," he said. "I hope you believe that." I nodded. Then I looked back toward the stairway. Pamela wouldn't even know I'd left, I thought. What did it matter? We had never really become mother and daughter, not in the way I had dreamed we would. Peter leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. "Good-bye, Brooke," he said. "Good rock." "Thanks," I muttered, and walked down to the car. When I looked back, Peter was still standing in tee doorway. The breeze lifted his hair. He raised his hand, and then, as if hearing himself paged, he turned quickly and went back inside. We drove off. The driver tried to make conversation, but I wouldn't answer any questions, and soon I was riding in silence, listening to my own thoughts. A little less than two hours later, we pulled up in front of the group foster home, a place named the Lakewood House. It was a very large BROOKE two-story house of gray clapboard with a wraparound porch. I realized it was very quiet because all of the children were probably at school. The driver began to unload my luggage just as a tall man with dark hair that fell over his forehead came around the corner. He had a pickax over his shoulder and his shirt off. His shoulders were thick with muscle, as were his long arms. His hands looked like steel vises. The fingers easily held the tool when he paused to swing it down. "Louise!" he shouted. He stared at me. "Louise!" he screamed again, this time followed with striking the side of the building with the flat side of the pickax. I imagined it must have shaken the building and everything inside, Suddenly, the front door opened, and a tall brunette with shoulder-length hair came hurrying out. She looked about fifty, with soft wrinkles on the sides of her eyes and over her upper lip, wrinkles that would have given Pamela the heart attack she claimed I had almost given her. Louise had young, vibrant-looking, friendly blue eyes, however. "Sure she brought enough?" the big man asked, nodding at my pile of suitcases and bags. "We'll find a place for everything," Louise assured me. "Not in the room she has," he corrected. "We'll figure it out. Hi, honey. My name's Louise. This is my husband, Gordon. He looks after the place. Did you have a long ride?" "No," I said, 163 V. C. ANDREWS "She wouldn't feel a long ride in a car like that, anyway," Gordon said, drawing closer. He stood gazing at me as he wiped his hands on his pants. ""You're lucky. You have your own room. You don't need to share at the moment, but Gordon's right. There's not enough closet space for all this," Louise said, looking at the luggage. The driver slammed the trunk. "What'd ya get for something like this?" Gordon asked him. "A hundred and fifty," the driver answered quietly. "Maybe I oughtta go into the limo business," Gordon muttered. "Be my guest," the driver said, and got into the car. We didn't say good-bye since we never really said hello. I didn't even know his name, and I doubted if he knew mine. "Who's supposed to carry all this inside?" Gordon asked. "I can do it myself," I said. "I>on't worry about space. There's a lot I don't want." He stared at me with a sharpness and then smiled. "Independent, huh?" he asked. "Let's get her settled in first, Gordon. Then we'll all get to know each other." "Can't wait," Gordon said, and sauntered off toward the garage. "Gordon's not used to having children around the house," Louise explained. "We ran this as a prime tourist resort. But that was before the resort business began to suffer," she continued, and ex BROOKJB plained her history and the building's as we took in some of my things and I settled in my room. Then she showed me around the house, where the dining room was, the game room, the kitchen, explaining what went on in each during the heyday of tile resort period. There were pictures on the walls of guests and employees. I did think it was interesting and almost felt as if I had come to a hotel. But that was a feeling that wouldn't last long. "I'll get you into school tomorrow," Louise promised. "For now, why don't you rest and wait for the others to come home? You'll make lots of friends here," she predicted. I didn't say anything. The overcast sky was beginning to break up so that patches of blue were visible here and there. The breeze was still strong but warm. I walked the grounds and sat at the top of a small hill, looking down at the lake. There were interesting, beautiful birds to watch. I was so deep in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear the school bus arrive and tile voices of other children. I smiled at the sight of them. The house seemed to come alive when they entered, as if it was a big, loving mother opening its arms. Soon, some curious children came looking for me. I imagined Louise had told them. A small girl with beautiful gold hair and a face that belonged on a doll walked behind an older» taller girl with thick glasses who carried a textbook and notebook. They paused a few feet from me. "Louise said you just arrived," the girl with the glasses began. "I'm Crystal. This is Janet Taylor. 165 V. C. ANDREWS You can think of us as your welcoming comnufij tee," she added dryly. I laughed. They drew closer. "My name's Brooke," I said. "This is actually my favorite spot," Crystal said. "As long as the weathers good, I like to start my homework here." I nodded and gazed at Janet, who seemed so shy she had to sneak looks at me. I smiled at her, and slowly she smiled back. Then they sat, and the three of us looked out at the lake. The sun was breaking out now, and its rays felt wonderful on my face. It was washing away all the false faces I had worn. Crystal and Janet stared at me but remained quiet. I knew they had been through the system. We were like soldiers who had fought similar wars and knew that we didn't have to rush to get to know each other. We would have lots of time, because all the promises of new homes that had been made to us would fade in the days to come. I didn't care. I couldn't think about that now. I was looking beyond the lake. I could hear all the voices, the cheers, and the screams. I was up at the plate, looking at the pitcher and then back at Coach Grossbard. She closed her eyes as if in prayer and then opened them and smiled. I took a deep breath and dug in. Almost as soon as I had hit that ball, I knew it was going to be a home run. It carried my hope with BROOKE it as it soared higher and higher. I didn't care if I forgot everything else, lost aJQ my recent memories, as long as I could close my eyes and relive that moment. As long as I could come around those bases toward home. All she wanted was to be someone's little girl.... Fate made her a lonely orphan, yearning for the embrace of a real family and a loving home. 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Alowuptowweeta fordAmy Fofpuidaseovef $10 00 you may use VISA. cad numbef, expiration POCKBT BOOKS PROUDLY PRESENTS RAVEN V.C. ANDREWS® The fourth book in the exciting Orplians series. Coining soon in paperback from Pocket Books. The following is a preview of Raven. . . . I never asked to be born," I threw back at my mother when she complained about all the trouble I had caused her from the day I was born. The school had called and the truancy officer had threatened to take Mama to court if I stayed home one more time. I hated my school. It was a hive of snobs buzzing around this queen bee or that and threatening to sting me if I so much as tried to enter their precious little social circles. My classes were so big, most of my teachers didn't even know I existed anyway! If it wasn't for the new automated homeroom cards, no one would have known that I hadn't gone to school. ^ Mama kicked the refrigerator door closed with her bare foot and slapped a bottle of beer down so bard on H the counter that it almost shattered. She tore off the cap with her opener and stared at me, her eyes bloodshot. The truancy officer's phone call had jolted her out of a dead sleep. She brought the bottle to her lips and sucked on it, the muscles in her thin neck ^ pulsating with the effort to get as much down her throat as she could in one gulp. Then she glared at me again. I saw she had a scraped elbow and a bruise on the bottom of her right forearm. We were having one of those Indian summers. The temperature had reached ninety and it was nearly October twenty-first. Mama's hair, just as black as mine, hung limply over her cheeks. Her bangs were too long and uneven. She pushed her lower lip out and blew up to sweep the strands out of her eyes. Once, she had been a very pretty woman, with eyes that glittered like black pearls. She had a richly dark complexion, distinct, high cheekbones and perfect facial features. Women shot silicone into their lips to get the shape and fullness that Mama's had naturally. I used to be flattered when people compared me to her in those days. All I ever dreamed of being was as pretty as my mother. Now, I pretended I wasn't even related to her. Sometimes, I pretended she wasn't even there. "How am I supposed to scratch out a living and watch a twelve-year-old, too? They should be giving me medals, not threats." Mama's way of scratching out a living was working as a barmaid at a dump called Charlie Boy's in Newburg, New York. Some nights she didn't come home until nearly four in the morning, long after the bar had closed. If she wasn't drunk, she was high on something and would go stumbling around our one- bedroom apartment, knocking into furniture and dropping things. I slept on the pullout couch, so I usually woke up or heard her, but I always pretended I was still asleep. I hated talking to her when she was in that condition. Sometimes I could smell her before I heard her. It was as if she had soaked her clothing in whiskey and beer. Mama looked much older than her thirty-one years now. She had dark shadows under her eyes and wrinkles that looked like lines drawn with an eyebrow pencil at the corners. Her rich complexion had turned into a pasty, pale yellow, and her once silky hair looked like a mop made of piano wire. It was streaked with premature gray strands and always looked dirty and stringy to me. Mama smoked and drank and didn't seem to care what man she went out with as long as he was willing to pay for what she wanted. I stopped keeping track of their names. Their faces had begun to merge into one, their red eyes peering at me with vague interest. Usually, I was just as much a surprise to them as they were to me. "You never said you had a daughter," most would remark. Mama would shrug and reply, "Oh, didn't I? Well, I do. You have a problem with that?" Some didn't say anything; some said no or shook their heads and laughed. - "You're the one with the problem," one man told her. That put her into a tirade about my father. We rarely talked about him. Mama would only say that he was a handsome Latino, but a disappointment when it came to living up to his responsibilities. "As are most men," she warned me- She got me to believe that my real father's promises were like rainbows: beautiful while they lingered in the air, but soon fading until they were only vague memories. And there was never a pot of gold! He would never come back and he would never send us anything. As long as I could remember, we lived in this small apartment in a building that looked like a strong wind could knock it over. The walls in die corridors were chipped and gouged in places as if some maddened creature had tried to dig its way out. The outside walls were scarred with graffiti and the walkway was shattered so that there was Just dirt in many sections where cement had once been. The small patch of lawn between the house and the street had turned sour years ago. The grass was a sickly pale green and there was so much garbage in it, no one could run a lawnmover over it. The sinks in our apartment always gave us trouble, dripping or clogging. I couldn*t even guess at how many times the toilet overflowed. The tub drain was surrounded by rust, and the shower dripped and usually ran out of hot water before I could finish or wash my hair. I know we had lots of mice because I was always finding their droppings in drawers or under dressers and tables. Sometimes, I could hear them scurrying about, and a few times I saw one before it scurried under a piece of furniture. We put out traps and caught a couple, but for every one we trapped, there were ten to take its place. Mama was always promising to get us out. A new apartment was just around the corner, just as soon as she saved another hundred for the deposit. But I knew that if she did get any spare money, she would spend it on whiskey, beer or pot. One other new boyfriends introduced her to cocaine and she had some of that occasionally, but usually it was too expensive for her. We had a television set that often lost its picture. I could get it back sometimes by knocking it hard on the side. Sometimes, mama received a welfare check. I never understood why she did or didn't. She cursed the system and complained when there wasn't a check. If I got to it first, I would cash it and get us some good groceries and some clothes for myself. If I didn't, she hid it or doled out some money to me in small dribs and drabs and I had to make do with it. I knew that other kids my age would steal what they couldn't afford, but that wasn't for me. There was a girl in my building, Lila Thomas, who raided malls with some other girls from across town on weekends. She had been caught shoplifting, but she didn't seem afraid of being caught again. She made fun of me all the time because I wouldn't go along. She called me "the Gid Scout" and told everyone J would end up selling cookies for a living. I didn't care about not having her as a close friend. Most of the time, I was happy being with myself, reading a magazine, or watching soaps whenever I could get the television set to work. I tried not to think about Mama sleeping late, maybe even with some new man in her room. I had gotten so I could look through people and pretend they weren't even there. "You Just better damn well go to school tomorrow, Raven. I don't need no government people coming around here and snooping," she muttered, and wiped strands of hair away from her cheek. "You listening to me?" "Yes," I said. She stared hard and drank some more of her beer. It was only nine-fifteen in the morning, f bated the taste of beer anyway, but just the thought of drinking it this early made my stomach chum. Mama suddenly realized what day it was and that I should be in school. Her eyes popped. "Why are you home today?" she cried. "I had a stomachache," I said. "I'm getting my period. That's what the nurse told me in school when I had cramps and left class," She looked at me with a cold glint in her dark eyes and nodded. "Welcome to hell," she said. "You'll soon under stand why parents give thanks they had a boy. Men have it so much easier. You better watch yourself now," she warned^ pointing the neck of the beer bottle at me. "What do you mean?" "What do I mean," she mimicked. "I mean if you got your period coming, you could get pregnant, Raven, and I won't be taking care of no baby, not me." "I'm not getting pregnant. Mama," I said sharply. She laughed. "That's what I said and look at what happened." "Well, why did you have me, then?" I fired back at her, I was tired of hearing what a burden I was. I wasn't. I was the one who kept the apartment livable, cleaning up after her drunken rages, washing dishes, washing clothes, mopping the bathroom floor. I was the one who bought us food and who cooked for us half the time. Sometimes she brought food from the restaurant, when she remembered, but it was usually cold and greasy by the time she brought it home. "Why'd I have you? Why'd I have you?" she muttered, and looked dazed, as if tee question was too hard to answer. Her face brightened with .rage. "Ill tell you why. Because your macho Cuban father was going to make us a home. He was positive you were going to be a boy. How could he have anything but boys? Not Mr. Macho. Then, when you were born..." "What?" I asked quickly. Getting her to tell me anything about my father or what things were like for her in those days was as hard as getting top govern ment secrets. "He ran. As soon as he set eyes on you, he grimaced and said, 'It's a girl? Can't be mine.' And he ran. Ain't heard from him since," she muttered. She looked thoughtful for a moment and then turned back to me. "Let that be a lesson to you about men." What lesson? I wondered. How did she think it made me feel to learn that my father couldn't stand the sight of me, that my very birth sent him away? How did she think it made me feel to hear almost every day how ^he never asked to have me? Some times she called me her punishment. I was God's way of getting back at her, but what did she consider her sin? Not drinking or doing drugs or slumming about, oh no. Her sin was trusting a man. Was she right? Was that the way all men behaved? Most of my mother's friends agreed with her about men, and many of my friends, who came from homes not much better than mine, had similar ideas taught to them by their mothers. 1 felt more alone than ever. Getting older, develop ing as a woman, looking older than I was, none of it made me feel more independent and stronger as much as it reminded me I really had no one but my self. I had many questions. I had tots of things troubling me, things a girl would want to ask her mother, but I was afraid to asfc mine, and most of the time, I didn't think she could think dearly enough to answer them anyway. "You got what you need?" she asked, dropping the empty beer bottle into the garbage. "What do you mean?" "What I mean is something to wear for protection. Didn't that school nurse tell you what you need?" "Yes, Mama, I have what I need," I said. I didn't. What I needed was a real mother and a real father, for starters, but to me that was something I'd see only on television. "I don't want to hear about you not going to school, Raven. If I do, I'm going to call your uncle Reuben," she warned. She often used her brother as a threat. She knew I never liked him, never liked being in his company. I didn't think his own children liked him and I knew my aunt Caria was afraid of him. I could see it in her eyes. Mama returned to her bedroom and went back to sleep. I sat by the window and looked down at the street. Our apartment was on the third floor. There were no elevators, just a windy stairway that sounded like it was about to collapse, especially when younger children ran down the steps or when Mr. Winecoup, the man who lived above us, walked up. He easily weighed three hundred pounds. The ceiling shook when he paced about in his apartment. I looked beyond the street, out toward the moun tains in the distance, and wondered what was beyond them. I dreamed of running off to find a place where the sun always shone, where houses were dean and smelted fresh, where parents laughed and loved their children, where there were fathers who cared and mothers who cared. "You might as well live in Disneyland," a voice told me. "Stop dreaming." I rose and began my day of solitude, finding some- tiling to eat, watching some television, waiting for Mama to wake up so we could talk about dinner before she went off to her job. When she was rested and sober enough, she would sit before her vanity mirror and work on her hair and face enough to give others the illusion she was healthy and still attractive. While she did her makeup, she ranted and raved about her life and what she could have been if she hadn't fallen for the first good-looking man and believed his lies. I tried to ask her questions about her own youth, but she hated answering questions about her family. Her parents had practically disowned her, and she had left home when she was eighteen, but she didn't realize any of her own dreams. The biggest and most exciting thing in her life was her small flirtation with becoming a model. Some department store manager had hired her to model in the women's department, but then "He wanted sexual favors, so I left," she told me. Once again she went into one other tirades about men. "If you hate men so much," I asked her, "why do you go out with one almost every other night?" "Don't have a smart mouth. Raven," she fired back. She thought a moment and then she shrugged. "I'm entitled to some fim» aren't I? Well? I work hard. Let them take me out and spend some money on me." "Don't you ever want to meet anyone nice, Mama?" I asked. "Don't you ever want to get married again?" She stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked sad for a moment, and then she put on that angry look and spun on me. "NO! I don't want to have no man lording over me again. And besides," she said, practically screaming, "I didn't get married. I never had a wedding, not even in a court." "But I thought... my father..." "He was your father, but he wasn't my husband. We just lived together," she said. She looked away. "But I have his name... Flores," I stuttered, "It was just to save my reputation," she admitted. She turned to me and smiled coldly. "You can call yourself whatever you want." I stared, my heart quivering. I didn't even have a name? When I looked in the mirror, who did I see? No one, I thought. I might as well be invisible, I concluded, and returned to my seat by the window, watching the gray clouds twirl toward the mountains, toward the promise of something better. That promise. It was all I had. I awoke to the sound of knocking, but I wasn't sure if it was someone at our door. People pounded on the walls in this apartment building at all times of the day and night. The knocking grew sharper, more frenzied, and then I heard my uncle Reuben's voice. "Raven, damn it, wake up. Raven!" He hit the door so hard, I thought his fist had gone through it. I reached for my robe and got up quickly. "Mama!" I called. I ground the sleep from my eyes and listened. I thought I remembered hearing her come home, but the nights were so mixed up and confused in my memory, I wasn't sure. "Mama?" Uncle Reuben pounded on the door again, shaking the whole frame. I hurried to Mama's bedroom and gazed in. She wasn't there. "Raven! Wake up!" "Coming," I cried, and hurried to the door. When I unlocked it, he shoved it open so fast, he almost knocked me over. "What's wrong?" I demanded. A small naked bulb in the hallway turned the dirty, shadowy walls into a brown the color of a wet paper bag. There was just enough light behind Uncle Reu ben to silhouette his stocky six-foot-three body. He hovered in the doorway like some bird of prey, and the silence that followed his urgency frightened me even more. He seemed to be gasping for breath, as if be had run up the stairs. "What do you want?" I cried. "Get some things together," he ordered. "You got to come with me." "What? Why?" I stepped back and embraced my self. I would have hated going anywhere with him in broad daylight, much less late at night. "Put on some light," he commanded. I found the switch and lit up the kitchen. The illumination revealed his swollen, sweaty face, the crests of his cheeks as red as a rash. His dark eyes looked about frantically. He wore only a soiled T- shirt and a pair of oily-looking jeans. Even though he had an administrative job now with the highway department, he still had the bulky muscular frame he had built working on the road crew. His dark brown hair was cut military short, which made his ears look like the wings on Mercury's cap. I used to wonder how Mama and Uncle Reuben could be siblings. His facial features were large and pronounced, the only real resemblance being in their eyes. "What is it?" I asked. "Why are you here?" "Not because I want to be, believe me," he replied, and went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. "Your mother's in jail," he added. "What?" I had to wait for him to take long gulps of water. He put the glass in the sink as if he expected the maid would clean up after him and then turned to me. For a moment he just drank me in. His gaze made me feel like a cold wind had slipped under my robe. I actually shivered. "Why is Mama in jail?" "She got picked up with some drug dealer. She's in big time, real trouble this time," he said. "You got to come live with us in the meantime, maybe forever," he added, and spit into the sink. "Live with you?" My heart stopped. "Believe me, I'm not happy about it. She called me to come fetch you," he continued with obvious reluc tance. It was as if his mouth fought opening and closing to produce the words. He gazed around our small apartment. "What a pigsty! How does anyone live here?" "Get your things together. I don't want to stay here a moment longer than I have to." "How long is she going to be in jail?" I asked, the tears beginning to bum under my eyelids. "I don't know. Years, maybe," he said without emotion. "She was still on probation from that last thing. It's late. I have to get up in a few hours and go to work. Get a move on," he ordered. "Why can't I just stay here?" I moaned. "For the simple reason that the court won't permit it. I thought you were a smart kid. If you don't come with me, they'll put you in a foster home," he added. For a long moment, I considered the option. I'd be better off with complete strangers than with him. "And for another reason, I promised your mother." He studied my face a moment and smiled coldly. "I know what you're thinking. I was surprised she gave a damn too," he said. My breath caught and I couldnt swallow. I had to turn away so he wouldn't see the tears escaping and streaming down my cheeks. I hurried into the bed room and opened the dresser drawers to take out my clothes. The only suitcase I had was small and had to be tied together with belts to close. I found it in the back of my closet and started to pack. V.C. ANDREWS® THE BESTSELLING SERIES OF NOVELS THAT HAVE CAPTIVATED MILLIONS OF READERS AROUND THE WORLD! 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