Brooke (15 page)

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 change into a pair of slacks and a blouse. I was back 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 appearance.”

“But . . . everyone's expecting me. I promised I'd be there. Please,” I begged.

“I can drop her off,” William offered.

I looked at Pamela.

“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.

“What's the occasion for the party?” he asked me as we drove off.

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 pair of twin four-year-old girls.

“They're as cute as two peas in a pod,” he said. “I'm always taking pictures of them, as you can imagine, but I wouldn't want them to be in any 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 of hand.”

“I don't want to be in one, either,” I muttered.

“I 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
then they all shouted my name and cheered. Everyone rushed over to congratulate me. Many of my teachers were there. Even Mrs. Harper was there and gave me a restrained look of approval. Lisa's cousin Harrison, speaking to me with respect in his voice, tried to get me to be nicer to him. My heart was too full of joy to dislike anyone. To me, this was the greatest day of my life, and this was the best party I would ever attend, maybe even better than my wedding. Nothing could put a dark cloud over this day, I thought.

I was wrong.

I
felt as if I was floating above the party and not really a part of it. Never in my 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 girls'. I wore clothing that was just as expensive as, if not more expensive than, theirs. No one could look 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
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
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 not really your parents,” she said. “You 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
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. I 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 that ruined his Sunday. Even 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 I had expected. Peter
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, he was obviously avoiding any more arguments with Pamela.

I felt 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.

I 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
hush in conversation, and when I looked at the girls, some of them dropped their eyes guiltily. Why? I wondered. I got my food and joined my new friends at the table.

“I thought Mr. Brazil was going to keep me right through lunch period,” I said, laughing. “You know how slowly he talks.” Eva smiled, but no one else did.

I started to eat and noticed everyone was being rather silent. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

No one replied. It was as if I wasn't even there. The bell rang to move on to class almost before I had finished my lunch. Everyone started to move away.

I reached out and seized Lisa's wrist. “What's the 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.

“Yes, I did,” I snapped back at her. “Especially here, where everyone judges everyone by how much money her father makes or how big her parents' house is.”

“That's not true.”

“It is,” I insisted.

Lisa glared at me. “You probably knew how to play tennis all along, too,” she said. “You made me look stupid.”

“What?”

She started away.

“I didn't know. How could I know? Do you think we 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
hard in my classes the rest of the day. I ignored everyone. Most of the other girls were polite, if not overly friendly, but even my teachers seemed different to me. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, I had little to look forward to.

My dark, heavy mood was lifted from my shoulders when I went to physical education class. Coach Grossbard called me to her office before I dressed 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 find 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.

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 Fodor's School for Snobs,” she said. “You must not let them get you down. They're all just jealous, that's all.”