Three Black Swans

  Genevieve was her great-grandmother’s only frequent visitor. GeeGee’s three grandchildren—Ned, Alan and Dorothy—used their grandmother as a bank. Aunt Dorothy was always in the middle of a divorce and Uncle Alan was always in the middle of a career collapse. They showed up routinely to mooch off their grandmother for a month or a year. Like Genevieve’s father, Alan and Dorothy needed help with vacations and cruises, new cars and boats, mortgages and down payments. The day came when GeeGee said to her middle-aged grandchildren, “There’s no more money. I’ve outlived it. You’ll have to pay my bills instead of me paying yours.”

  Uncle Alan and Aunt Dorothy no longer wasted time visiting, while Genevieve’s father became too busy, and Genevieve’s mother said nursing homes gave her the willies. They hardly ever asked Genevieve about her visits and did not know that when the water aerobics instructor quit, and nobody else had the interest or qualifications to teach a class, Genevieve took over because GeeGee loved the water. Three afternoons a week, Genevieve coaxed ancient bodies into the pool.

  After half an hour in the pool, and maybe a lesson in card games—because GeeGee felt that bridge, canasta and rummy were crucial to the well-balanced life—Genevieve would jog the half mile home.

  Last night at dinner, her father had passed the plastic container of grilled salmon pasta salad. He did not ask about Genevieve’s day. She thought of mentioning High School Bowl practice. She knew better than to extend an invitation to the next meet. “I’m in the city at that hour,” her mother would say. “Vivi, I’m really stretched for time,” her father would add.

  There was one thing Genevieve did need to bring up. “I was visiting GeeGee the other day. She thinks it’s time we scheduled college visits.” Actually, GeeGee felt it was long overdue for Ned and Allegra to do hundreds of things.

  Her father shook his head. “You’re only a junior.”

  “I know, Dad, but everybody begins planning now. During vacations, we should visit colleges.”

  Her mother got up from the table and made a big deal of refrigerating the leftovers. If you could call untouched dishes leftovers.

  The conversation did not continue. Ned and Allegra Candler gave each other what Genevieve had come to call their Dark Look: a half-hidden exchange of annoyance. Usually she had no idea what triggered the Dark Look, but this time it was probably money. Her parents worked hard (assuming you could call Dad’s job work, which most people didn’t), but they spent all their income and more. They were the classic overextended couple. They had probably assumed GeeGee would pay for Genevieve’s college, but that was not going to happen after all.

  Genevieve tried to maneuver her parents in a college direction. “I don’t know enough about colleges to think about a particular school. Which ones do you like?”

  She was not sure her parents would take out loans to help her. The reason she studied so hard and had joined High School Bowl was to win scholarships. She liked sports, but had no flair and was not good enough to play at the college level. Her scholarships would have to be academic.

  “I haven’t thought about it,” said her father. “I’ll buy you some college guidebooks.”

  “I don’t know about using vacations to visit colleges, Vivi,” said her mother. “Your father and I are really booked. How about the virtual campus tours every university has online?”

  Her parents exchanged a satisfied look, as if the college question was now settled.

  Ordinarily, Genevieve tried to placate her parents. Maybe it was the accumulated hours of being home alone. Maybe she was still hungry. But this time Genevieve had had it. “What is there about me?” she demanded. “Why are you just standing here waiting for me to grow up and go away?”

  Her mother snapped the lid of a leftover food container. Her father leaned back in his chair.

  Genevieve was furious. “You two always seem to have some other kid in mind. You don’t even like being around me. What kid would you rather have?”

  They exchanged their Dark Look. It was not annoyance. It was a mixture of apprehension and dislike. Maybe even fear.

  Fear? thought Genevieve. Of what? Of whom? Of me? “What family secret are you hiding?” she demanded. “Did I commit a murder or something when I was a toddler?”

  “Vivi,” said her mother, as if identifying her child at last.

  “Did I find a gun and shoot somebody during a play date?”

  “Vivi!”

  “Don’t call me baby names. Give me answers. You don’t like to be with me. You never have. Tell me why.”

  Her father rallied. “Vivi, we adore you. You’re the center of our lives. It’s a bit of a jolt to realize that our baby girl is ready for college. Are you thinking you’d like to stay near home, and attend a nice small school in New York State or New England or Pennsylvania? Or are you feeling daring, and want to try the West Coast or the Deep South?”

  Her mother joined in. “Do you picture a campus with forty thousand kids or five hundred? A big city or a country village? Mountains or shore?” Out of her briefcase, Allegra pulled a yellow legal pad and a pencil, which looked archaic. Allegra’s life was conducted on her Treo.

  Incredibly, the three of them stayed at the little round table far into the evening, while Dad asked questions and Mom began a to-do list.

  Now in the stuffy hall at her high school, midafternoon on Thursday, Genevieve thought that the college talk had been camouflage. Wouldn’t normal parents react more than that if their daughter suggested she might have murdered a playmate? At least frown? “Oh, stop it. The worst thing you ever did was bite that nasty little Nathan when he bit you.” Or maybe normal parents would tease—“No more true crime television for you, young lady.”

  As for Genevieve’s accusation that her parents had wanted some other kid—wouldn’t a normal parent deny that? “Of course we don’t want some other kid! You’re perfect. Except when you’re exaggerating.”

  But Genevieve’s parents were not normal. In the outside world, they were normal: at work, at play, at parties. But they were not normal with her.

  A boy’s voice startled her. “Genny!”

  Genevieve shifted the weight of her books to her other arm.

  “Genny!” the boy called again.

  Genevieve did not think of herself as Gen and certainly not as Genny, so she still did not turn around.

  “Vivi,” said Cammy, hurrying by. She tapped Genevieve’s shoulder. “Jimmy Fleming is running after you.” Cammy beamed, happy for her.

  Jimmy Fleming was a big deal—a senior widely adored for his amazing abilities in every sphere: from being captain of High School Bowl to captain of varsity baseball, from winning a Westinghouse scholarship to being president of Key Club. He was cute in a lanky, puzzled way. Jimmy Fleming looked like a boy who didn’t have the answer, couldn’t catch the ball, forgot his homework.

  No.

  Jimmy was awesomely prepared on every level, in every subject.

  The first time Genevieve participated in an actual Bowl meet, she had gotten flustered. She knew perfectly well that Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik was A Little Night Music; that the Union Army general who burned Savannah was William Tecumseh Sherman; that Marcus Aurelius was one of the Antonine emperors. But she had failed to think of the answers fast enough. She had not known how many ghosts visited Ebenezer Scrooge, but at least she hadn’t forgotten that the world’s largest lizard was the Komodo dragon.

  For High School Bowl, the boys wore a suit and tie, and the girls wore a white top, a skirt and high heels. High School Bowl was televised. It was a popular local-channel event. Her parents were never home to watch television, so they did not know how poorly Genevieve had done her first time out, but other parents had been comforting. “Next time you’ll show them, Vivi. You had stage fright. It won’t happen again.”

  Genevieve assumed that Cammy’s delight was misplaced. Jimmy Fleming just needed to tell her something about High School Bowl. Although usually he texted.

  She t
urned to see Jimmy racing in her direction as fast and thoughtlessly as a three-year-old careening across a room, about to misjudge the distance and hit the wall. He was breathless and excited, which was nearly always the case. “When you fall in love,” GeeGee liked to say, “pick a boy with bounce.”

  Genevieve smiled at the bounciest boy she knew.

  Jimmy Fleming skidded to a halt. “Genny!” he said in a low, excited voice.

  Genevieve always used her entire name, and never used anything else. Nicknames came from people who resisted long names. Why couldn’t Jimmy, who knew all trivia in all subjects, remember that? She corrected him softly. “Genevieve.”

  “Right. Genevieve.” He extended a hand as if to touch her, and then seemed to think better of it. He let his hand fall. He chewed his lip, which she had never seen him do, even when his next answer would win or lose the meet. “Genevieve, remember last year when High School Bowl made the finals? Remember how we had tournaments with the winners from other New York State counties? Remember we played the Westchester County champion?”

  They had had a bus, like a sports team, and a cheering section full of friends and parents—not her parents, but enough for the team to feel supported. “I didn’t play,” she reminded him. “I was new. I sat there.”

  “That’s true, but you sat next to a guy named Ray Feingold.”

  Ray Feingold had made her laugh so hard she had had to fight for control throughout the meet. Ray Feingold had even more bounce than Jimmy. Ray had gotten in touch with Jimmy Fleming about her? That was so romantic! Genevieve beamed at Jimmy Fleming.

  * * *

  Jimmy had been eager to chase Genevieve down. He’d looked up her schedule, tracked her probable route and snagged her in the hall with seconds to spare. He stared at her black halo of hair because he could not meet her shining eyes. She had misunderstood why a boy far away in another county was thinking of her.

  I don’t want to be the messenger, thought Jimmy. People shoot the messenger.

  The bell rang the end of passing period.

  Jimmy was a fan of almost everything in life. He liked all sports and all academics. He liked all activities and all pursuits. He liked all girls. But there were standouts, and Genevieve Candler was one. Jimmy never saw Genevieve smile without having to smile back. It was a gift, getting others to smile.

  Jimmy had been told that not only did this girl visit her ancient great-grandmother in a nearby nursing home most days, but that three afternoons each week, she led water aerobics for ninety-year-olds. What could ninety-year-old people even do? Could they do it more than ten minutes? Could they do it without drowning? What would people that old look like in bathing suits?

  Each time Genevieve showed up for Bowl practice, Jimmy thought of the long list of activities on his college applications. Not one equaled Genevieve’s stint in a nursing home. It was beyond beyond.

  Genevieve was laughing. “About Ray,” she reminded him.

  Jimmy could think of no way out. He swallowed. “Something went down this morning at a high school in Connecticut. Not Ray’s high school, he’s in New York State. See, the Connecticut school televises morning announcements. A friend of Ray’s goes there, and forwarded him this weird video from this morning. Well, not to Ray in particular, but to everybody he knew.”

  “Weird” was not the word for the video. “Dramatic and emotional” defined the video.

  The weird part was standing in front of Jimmy.

  * * *

  What could a Connecticut high school video have to do with her? Genevieve had been born in Connecticut, which was annoying, because she could not claim to be a New York native. But her parents had moved to Long Island when she was little, to be near GeeGee. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in Connecticut. Why would you go there? But she didn’t care about some video. “And Ray?” she asked excitedly.

  “Ray asked me to tell you about the video.”

  Genevieve tried to hide a rush of disappointment.

  Jimmy flapped his arms, as if starting the chicken dance. “You know what? Let’s forget it. Pretend I didn’t chase you down, okay?” He backed off, waving good-bye although he was only a few feet away.

  “Have you seen this video, Jimmy?”

  “Um. Yeah. But it can wait.”

  Genevieve had never participated in the videos kids sometimes made where they were naked or acting crazy, so this could not be a film that had come back to haunt her. She could not imagine what the content might be. She took out her Smartphone, which was new and had dozens of applications she had not even tried.

  “That screen is too small,” said Jimmy.

  “That’s okay. What’s the link?”

  “There isn’t time,” said Jimmy. “You have physics.”

  Jimmy Fleming knew her class schedule? Genevieve found this surprising and delightful. “I can be late. I’ll claim High School Bowl had a meeting.”

  Jimmy was visibly trying to think of more excuses.

  She was intrigued. “If it’s important enough for Ray to locate me and important enough for you to panic, let’s go to the library and you can show me on a nice big computer.” Genevieve tap-danced toward the library. Dancing, she had the poise to take Jimmy’s hand and haul him along.

  “I don’t know if it’s anything to celebrate, Gen.”

  “Genevieve,” she reminded him. “If you come into the library with me, Mr. Varick will let us sit together at a computer. You’re Scholar Number One, you know. Librarians always submit to the will of Scholar Number One.”

  At the library, Genevieve stopped tap-dancing, because the library was carpeted and because Mr. Varick was a man without humor. They had no library passes, but Jimmy Fleming saluted the librarian and said, “High School Bowl. Fact-check.”

  Mr. Varick merely nodded.

  The large room was almost empty. In a few minutes, the classes signed up for this period would dribble in, but for now Genevieve Candler and Jimmy Fleming were alone among the ranks of computers. Jimmy sat down at one, typed in his student code, logged on to the Internet and went to YouTube.

  He looked up at Genevieve, his expression a match for her parents’ faces last night. Apprehension. Maybe something worse.

  Abruptly Genevieve was afraid. Her parents had failed to deny it when she’d accused herself of crimes. Were there crimes? Had she done something hideous? Had a video of her crime surfaced?

  Jimmy brought up a video. He did not touch the Start arrow. He stood. He gestured for Genevieve to sit down.

  Genevieve no longer wanted to know why her parents had exchanged their Dark Look. She wanted out of here. She wanted to be running into the nursing home, where the aides would already have GeeGee and the others heading for the warm shallow pool. Where she would pull off her clothes—on water aerobics days, she wore her two-piece suit as underwear—while half a dozen ancient people looked longingly at her body. They too had once been lithe and supple. She would slip into the water and coax them in after her.

  She actually heard Jimmy swallow. She stared at the black rectangle where the video would appear. She clicked the Start arrow. The video began.

  A boy sat at a table. A blown-up photo on the wall behind him showed the front entry to his school. An American flag and a plastic tree flanked the table. The boy was cute and friendly-looking, with chunky glasses and a shirt that had been ironed. He was setting down a sheaf of paper. “That completes our morning announcements. And now we have a special event. I want to introduce Missy Vianello.”

  The camera shifted. It focused on a girl.

  The girl was Genevieve.

  She was looking at herself. In Connecticut.

  Herself smiled and then giggled.

  Genevieve’s giggle.

  Herself said, “Hi, everybody. I’m Missy Vianello. I’m a sophomore here. And I have the most wonderful, amazing, beautiful thing to share.”

  The voice was Genevieve’s voice.

  The gesturing hand was Geneviev
e’s hand. Genevieve had the same tendency not to relax the middle joint of her fingers. She watched her own stiff fingers toss a ponytail over her shoulder. Her ponytail. Not sleek and shiny, which was desirable, but fat and fuzzy. The Genevieve on the screen yanked the elastic off. A black cloud of puffy hair surrounded the pale triangular face.

  Genevieve’s hair.

  Genevieve’s face.

  Herself in another school in a different state talked on. “My identical twin just surfaced. We just found each other! Can you believe it? I have a long-lost identical twin.”

  The camera now displayed two girls.

  Genevieve was both of them. They were both her.

  Genevieve felt like a Dalí painting. Her eyes popped out the sides of her head, while a clock lived in her throat. An insect crawled through her brain and a pie slice was missing from her neck.

  “And this,” said the Missy one, touching the other girl’s shoulder, “this is my twin, Claire.”

  But they were neither Missy nor Claire. They were Genevieve.

  The Genevieves stared at each other and the Claire one began to cry.

  What was going on? Who were these girls? Were they her?

  Was she actually in Connecticut with them?

  Was she one of them?

  The Claire one said, “We shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have agreed.”

  The Missy one turned back toward the TV camera. “Claire’s going to attend school with me today,” she said, “and this seemed like a good way to let everybody know who she is and why she’s here.”

  Sobbing, the Claire one removed her mike and stepped out of view.

  Herself said to the announcer, “I guess this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Rick, just cut our segment, okay?”

  The camera returned to the boy at the desk. He was still cute, but now he was pale, his speech slower. “This is live, Missy. We can’t cut anything. But we welcome you, Claire, and we’re thrilled for you both, and this has definitely introduced you to the entire high school. It’s seven-fifty-five, people. Have a nice day.”

  The video stopped. Genevieve stared at the silent screen. After a while she played the video again.