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she realized that it wasn't the fault of the Devon Seven that Tracey was such a mess. It was her parents' fault.
At that moment she wasn't in any mood to face those parents, even if they couldn't see her. And she decided to take advantage of her invisibility by paying a visit to a place that she'd been trying not to think about.
Had it really been less than a week since she'd been in her own home? It felt like forever. It was funny how she'd forgotten what a pretty house it was. She stood there, at the end of the driveway, and just admired it.
Then she caught her breath. There she was-- Amanda Beeson, accompanied by Katie and Britney, walking right by her. Boy, if she only knew what they'd been saying about her in the restroom, Amanda thought. She picked up her pace so that she could enter the house with them.
Her very own mother came into the vestibule to greet them. "Hello, darling. Hi, girls."
Other-Amanda didn't bother with greetings. "Mom, we're starving. Is there anything to eat?"
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"Of course there is! I made chocolate-chip cookies for you."
"Yum," Katie and Britney chorused, but Other-Amanda stamped her foot.
"Mom! You know I'm on a diet! Why did you have to go make cookies?"
"Amanda, darling, there's no need for you to be on a diet," her mother protested as she followed them into the kitchen.
"Oh, what would you know?" Other-Amanda muttered.
Jeez, was she rude or what? Amanda thought. But wasn't that what she normally would have said?
"Girls, would you like some milk with those cookies?" Amanda's mother asked, opening the refrigerator and taking out a carton.
"Mom! Could we have some privacy, puh-leeze?"
Amanda could see the annoyance on her mother's face, but the woman didn't say anything. She probably didn't want to embarrass her daughter by scolding her in front of her friends. That was the kind of thoughtful person she was.
As soon as her mother left, Other-Amanda said,
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"Guys, did I tell you what I did to Tracey Devon in gym class? I told her I saw a bug crawling out of her hair!"
Britney and Katie burst out laughing. After what she'd heard her friends say in the restroom that day, Amanda-Tracey knew they were faking their enthusiasm for Amanda's meanness. They were such hypocrites! And she didn't want to listen to it anymore. She started for the door and then had another thought. She ran up the stairs to her very own room, went into the closet, and grabbed her favorite red ballerina flats. It wasn't really stealing, she told herself. After all, they were hers.
By the time she got back to Tracey's house, it was after six, and since she was still invisible, nobody could see that she was home. But her absence clearly wasn't having any effect on the household. In fact, there was an event going on--a reporter and a film crew were there. The Devon Seven were all wearing identical pink dresses. Tracey's mother had obviously been to the beauty salon, and even Tracey's father had come home early from work.
They were all gathered in the living room, and
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Amanda hovered in the corner to see what was going on. An attractive woman was standing in front of a camera and speaking.
"The impact of multiple births on a family is enormous, financially and emotionally. Mrs. Devon, what did the arrival of septuplets do to your life?"
Tracey's mother uttered a tinkling little laugh. "Well, as you can imagine, our lifestyle certainly changed. George and I used to go out to dinner frequently and to the theater. We can't do that as often now."
"We're going out tonight," Mr. Devon added, "for the first time since the girls were born."
"Do you go out less now because of the expense?" the reporter asked.
Mrs. Devon looked insulted. "No, we're quite fortunate in that sense. But it's very difficult to find a babysitter when there are seven children in the house."
Eight children, Amanda thought. There are eight children in the house. Maybe Tracey wasn't an adorable little kid and maybe she didn't require a babysitter, but she had to count for something.
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Mr. Devon interjected a comment. "Of course, we don't mind giving up our social life. With seven daughters, it's a party in this house all the time!"
Eight daughters! What is the matter with these people? Don't they care about Tracey at all? Have they forgotten her? Amanda was really beginning to get irritated with them.
"Do you ever think about having another child?"
"Heavens no," Mrs. Devon said. "Seven is plenty!"
Now Amanda was fuming, and she couldn't keep quiet. "Eight! You have eight kids!"
There was a shriek from a cameraman, and another man yelled, "Cut! What happened?"
The cameraman's eyes were huge and he was pointing in Amanda's direction. "That--that girl! She just popped up out of nowhere!"
So she was visible again. That was a relief. It wasn't a relief to the cameraman, though. His face was white and his hand was shaking as he pointed. "I'm telling you. Look at the tape--she wasn't there a second ago."
"Don't be ridiculous," the other man said. "You just didn't see her come in." He peered at Amanda.
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"Who are you, anyway?"
"I'm Tracey Devon. I'm the Devon Seven's older sister."
The director seemed taken aback. "Really?" To the reporter, he said, "I didn't know there was an older sibling. Did you?"
The reporter turned to the Devon parents. "I don't think you've ever mentioned another child." Then, turning back to Amanda, she said "What did you say your name is, dear?"
"Tracey." Amanda glared at Tracey's parents. "Remember me?"
Mr. Devon seemed somewhat befuddled. "Of course, don't be silly ..."
Mrs. Devon broke in. "We thought you'd be interested only in the septuplets. Tracey is our firstborn; she's twelve."
"Thirteen!" Amanda corrected her. That was when it hit her--why Tracey's special gift was the ability to disappear. No one ever saw her, so she just faded away. If no one paid any attention to her, why bother being visible?
"Would you like to be interviewed, Tracey?" the
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reporter asked. "I'd like to know how having seven identical siblings has affected your life."
Idon't have a life, Amanda thought. I mean, Tracey doesn't have a life. And there wasn't anything she wanted to say about the Devon Seven--she didn't even know them.
"No, I don't want to be interviewed," Amanda said. If she'd been at her own home, her mother or father would have corrected her: "No, thank your She glanced at the parents. As usual, they weren't paying attention. They both just seemed completely puzzled.
The Devon Seven were staring at her, too. They were probably amazed to hear her speaking, or to hear other people speaking to her. Amanda resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at the little darlings and give them a dirty look. No, it was the parents who deserved the dirty look. Somebody had to take the blame for Tracey's miserable life! Without another word, Amanda left the room and ran upstairs.
Throwing herself on Tracey's bed, she contemplated her situation--Tracey's situation. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. Amanda pounded
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the pillow in frustration. She even began to wonder if maybe Tracey did have a worse life than Jenna. At least Jenna's mother seemed to love her.
But what really bugged Amanda was the fact that Tracey didn't do anything about it. She just let them ignore her and went along with it by disappearing.
Then Amanda sat up. Maybe it was Tracey's own fault that her life was crummy. Well, if Amanda was going to have to live as Tracey for a while longer, there was no way she'd follow in Tracey's footsteps.
A little voice inside her asked, And what if you have to live as Tracey forever? She forcibly pushed that horrible notion out of her mind. For as long as she did have to be this sad girl, she wasn't going to suffer like Tracey did. It was time for Tracey to take some responsibility for herself.
>
Amanda remained on the bed, thinking about how to go about doing that. After a while she heard the film people leave, and she came out of her room. She still wasn't sure what her first move would be, but she had to do something.
The seven little girls were now bouncing around and making a lot of noise. Mr. Devon was trying to
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hush them as Mrs. Devon went to answer the ringing telephone in the kitchen. From the bottom of the stairs, Amanda watched as Mr. Devon made futile efforts to get the kids under control.
"Kandie, stop jumping--you're giving me a headache."
"I'm not Kandie--I'm Mandie!" the child declared.
Mrs. Devon emerged from the kitchen with a stricken look on her face. "That was Lizzie. She can't baby-sit."
"What?" Mr. Devon yelled. "But we're meeting my boss and his wife. We can't cancel now!"
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Mrs. Devon shrieked back.
Amanda saw her opportunity. "I'll baby-sit."
Mrs. Devon continued with her tirade. "I can't find a babysitter at the last minute!"
"Yes, you can!" Amanda said more loudly. "Didn't you hear me? I said I'll baby-sit."
She must have spoken even louder than she thought, because she actually got both the parents' attention. But neither of them seemed to
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have understood.
"What did you say?" Tracey's father asked.
Amanda was getting impatient. "I said, I'll baby-sit for the girls."
Tracey's mother stared at her. "You?"
"Yes, me. I'm thirteen years old, remember? I can watch them. I'm not saying I'll entertain them, but I can make sure they don't play with matches or sharp knives. I can keep them alive till you get back."
Mr. Devon looked at Mrs. Devon. "Why not? We're not going that far. I'll leave my cell-phone number; she can call if there are any problems."
Mrs. Devon still looked uncertain. "Well ... I suppose that would be all right."
"Absolutely," Mr. Devon assured her. "Thank you for offering, Tracey."
"Oh, I'm not doing this as a favor," Amanda corrected him. "I expect to be paid. How much do you pay Lizzie for baby-sitting?"
Mr. Devon was startled. "I don't know." He turned to his wife. "What do we pay the babysitter?"
"Five dollars an hour," Mrs. Devon said faintly.
"That will be just fine," Amanda said. "Five dollars
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an hour. If I'm not up when you get home, please leave the money on the kitchen table."
Still looking a little dazed, Mrs. Devon nodded.
"Good," Amanda said. "I'll be in my room. Let me know when you're ready to leave and I'll get to work." She couldn't see them as she turned to go back up the stairs, but she could conjure up the pleasant vision of two stunned parents, and it made her smile.
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Chapter Twelve
WHEN AMANDA-TRACEY walked into class on Monday, Jenna blinked twice. One of those two girls had been very busy that weekend. Not only was Amanda-Tracey visible, but she'd also been through some kind of transformation.
The outer person was still Tracey, but Amanda's influence was showing. The blond hair was no longer flat and stringy--it had been cut short, to her chin, and it was shining. She was wearing makeup--not a lot, but something made her eyes look bigger, and there was a slick of pink on her lips. And her clothes-- they weren't Jenna's kind of clothes, but she knew that other kids at school would consider them cool. This new Tracey wore a long red tunic over cropped jeans, with a short black sweater and red ballerina shoes. She carried her books in a black canvas tote bag
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over her shoulder.
She was different in other ways, too. She held her head up and took long, confident strides into the room. Even Madame looked intrigued.
But before anyone could comment, student teacher Serena came into the room. "I'd like to see Jenna today," she announced.
She was addressing Madame, but Jenna responded. "Maybe I don't want to see you!'
"Jenna, that's rude," Madame murmured.
Emily leaned over toward Jenna. "It doesn't hurt or anything, Jenna. In fact, it's kind of fun."
"That's right!" Serena said brightly. She turned to Madame. "And don't forget--I do have Principal Jackson's authorization to meet with each student independently."
"I haven't forgotten," Madame said quietly. "Jenna, would you please go with Ms. Hancock?" And at that moment, for the first time ever, Jenna thought she read a little something in Madame's mind.
And find out what this woman is really up to.
Had Jenna imagined that? Or had Madame actually allowed Jenna inside her head? Jenna decided
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that maybe a session with the student teacher would be more interesting than the usual boring 50 minutes in class.
"Okay." She followed Serena into the room next door. It was just another classroom, nothing special. Serena directed Jenna to sit down. She did, and then Jenna began to concentrate.
But before she could even begin to penetrate the student teacher's mind, Serena suddenly produced a circular object the size of a dinner plate. "I want you to look at the red dot in the center, Jenna." She pressed something on the plate, and it began to rotate.
Jenna tried to look away, but for some strange reason she couldn't. She couldn't close her eyes either. And any possibility of reading Serena's mind evaporated as her own mind went blank.
No, not blank exactly. She was conscious--she was aware of sitting in the room and looking at Serena's plate thing--but there was something happening in her mind. It was being drained ...
Time passed, but she had no idea how much. She couldn't take her eyes off the dot. She could hear just fine, though.
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"I know all about your special gift, Jenna. But you will not be able to read my mind. If you try to read my mind, you will suffer a severe headache. The pain will become unbearable. This is a posthypnotic suggestion, Jenna. You will never be able to read my mind. Do you understand?"
Jenna didn't think she could speak or even nod her head. She was completely paralyzed. But somehow she must have communicated something, because Serena said, "Good. Now, please follow me."
Then Jenna wasn't paralyzed at all. She rose and followed Serena out of the room. That was when she realized what had been drained from her mind--her will. She would do whatever this woman said. And she didn't even have enough freedom of thought to feel afraid.
They went down some stairs, walked to the end of a corridor, and turned right. Dimly, Jenna knew they were walking into the school cafeteria.
The last lunch session was still in progress, and she was aware of the noise and the people and the general chaos, but it was as if she wasn't a part of it-- more like she was watching the scene on TV. Serena
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led her across the room to an alcove where the teachers ate their lunch. They both stood just behind a column, so Jenna could see the teachers but they couldn't see her.
Now Serena was whispering in her ear. "There is a man at the table. He has light brown hair and he's wearing glasses. Do you see him?"
Jenna saw him, and even in her strange state she recognized him--Mr. Jones, a history teacher.
"During the next few minutes I want you to read his mind," Serena said. She left Jenna standing there and went over to the table.
With all the noise in the cafeteria, Jenna couldn't hear anything that Serena said to the other teachers. But the student teacher's lips were moving and she was smiling as she sat down next to Mr. Jones. And Jenna had no problem at all tuning in to the man; in fact, it was the easiest mind reading she'd ever done.
Wow, she's hot! Is she coming on to me? I hope so. I wonder if she's got a boyfriend. If I can get her alone later, I'm going to ask her out.
Serena returned to Jenna. "We can leave now," she said, and Jenna followed her back to the room they
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had been in before.
&
nbsp; "Now," Serena said as they returned to their seats, "I want you to tell me what Mr. Jones was thinking when I spoke to him."
Jenna had no choice. Like a parrot, she repeated the thoughts she'd read. '"Wow, she's hot! Is she coming on to me? I hope so. I wonder if she's got a boyfriend. If I can get her alone later, I'm going to ask her out.'"
Serena smiled. "Excellent! Now, Jenna, I'm going to take you out of your hypnotic state. Watch the red dot again."
She held up the object, and this time it spun in the opposite direction. Again, there was the odd passage of time--seconds, minutes, she couldn't tell.
Suddenly, Jenna felt like someone had just tossed a glassful of water in her face. She wasn't wet, but she was very awake.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Serena asked cheerfully.
"Was I really hypnotized?" Jenna asked her. "Absolutely," Serena assured her. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I remember everything we did."
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Serena continued to smile. "Of course you do. This isn't some sort of witchcraft, Jenna--it's psychological science. I'm not attempting to change you--I simply want to understand you--all of you. You kids with your special gifts, you need special attention."
"But why did I have to--"
Serena interrupted her. "That will be all, Jenna. Please return to the classroom and send Ken in here now. We have a few minutes left."
Jenna stared at her. But now Serena had opened a notebook and was totally preoccupied with writing something. Clearly, she wasn't going to be answering any questions that Jenna might ask, so Jenna did as she was told.
But for the rest of the school day, she thought about the odd experience. She'd been with Serena for more than half a class period, 30 minutes. But the events that took place could have taken up only ten minutes or so. Had Serena made her do things she couldn't remember? Or had the rest of the time been occupied with staring at the spinning plate with its stupid red dot?
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Jenna kept hoping to run into Emily sometime during the day so that she could compare their individual experiences with the student teacher. When school got out for the day, she hurried to the main exit and positioned herself there to wait for Emily to come out.
When she saw Amanda-Tracey emerge, she looked away, expecting that the other girl would do the same. But instead Amanda stopped and spoke.