I'm Not Who You Think I Am

  When Ginger got off the bus at school she glanced quickly around. A steady string of cars snaked in and out of the school’s driveway as parents dropped off their children. She had never realized before how many cars are white.

  All day, Ginger felt edgy. After school, she decided to tape the boys’ basketball game. Although the game was close, Ginger left before the final buzzer because she wanted to be sure to catch the activity bus. With Mom and Dad away, she couldn’t count on getting a ride home—and she certainly didn’t want to walk home alone. Not this week.

  When she opened the door, she saw a white car in the school lot, where the driver had a good view of the front door. A ribbon hung from the antenna.

  Maybe she won’t recognize me with my hair short, Ginger thought, but immediately she knew that was silly. Everyone at school today had known who she was. Cutting her hair to fool the woman had been a stupid idea.

  Ginger was tempted to go over to the car and confront the driver. But what could she say? Stop following me? Quit watching me? She had no proof that the woman was waiting for her.

  As Ginger started toward the bus, the woman got out of her car and came toward Ginger. “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “About what?”

  Ginger knew all the rules about screaming and running away if she was ever threatened by a stranger. But this woman was small, not much bigger than Ginger herself, and she did not appear to have any kind of weapon. She didn’t try to touch Ginger, or even come closer to her. She stood still, her empty hands at her sides, and spoke softly.

  “Not here. In private.” She smiled at Ginger, a tender, loving smile. “It’s important.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’ll drive you home. We can talk in the car.”

  “No. If it’s so important, you can call my parents and arrange a time to see me.”

  “Your parents are out of town.”

  A shiver tingled down the back of Ginger’s neck. It was this woman who had called.

  The bus engine started.

  “I have to go,” Ginger said. She walked past the woman and boarded the bus, her heart racing. She took the backseat and watched out the rear window. As the bus pulled into the street, the car drove away, too, but it did not follow the bus.

  She doesn’t need to follow the bus, Ginger thought. She already knows where I live. She knows my name and address and telephone number. She knows my daily schedule and she knows my parents are away. But I don’t know anything about her.

  What if she drives to my house and waits for me as I walk home from the bus?

  The bus had to wait at the railroad crossing while a slow freight train lumbered past. Hurry up, Ginger thought. I want to get home before she arrives.

  The car was not waiting when the bus reached Ginger’s corner, nor was it parked anywhere on Ginger’s street. Relieved, Ginger trotted home.

  Laura looked up from the book she was reading. “You just had a phone call,” she said, “from a very impolite woman.”

  “What did she say?”

  “When I answered, she thought I was you. She said, ‘Hello, Ginger. I’m so glad you answered.’ But when I said, ‘Ginger isn’t home yet; this is Laura,’ she hung up. Slammed the receiver down, right in my ear.”

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “She sounded kind of familiar, but I don’t know why.”

  “I do,” Ginger said. “You heard her wish me a happy birthday in the restaurant, and later you talked to her at Mrs. Vaughn’s party.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That woman waited for me outside school today. She said she needs to talk to me. I told her she would have to speak to Mom and Dad first.”

  Laura frowned at Ginger. “Who is she?”

  “I have no idea. The first time I saw her was that day in the restaurant, but she looks at me as if I’m her dearest friend. It’s creepy.”

  “I’m going to call Mom.”

  “And make her come home? I’ll tell Mom and Dad as soon as they get back. If the woman calls again, hang up.”

  “I don’t like this,” Laura said.

  “I don’t like it, either, but I don’t want to ruin Dad’s convention and the wedding Mom’s supervising. All the woman did was ask to talk to me. It isn’t as if she tried to grab me or something.”

  “If she comes to school again, tell a teacher.”

  Ginger nodded. She was certain the woman would show up again. The only question was when. And why.

  • • •

  Joyce Enderly wrote down what she would say to the girl, once they were alone. She wouldn’t be nervous if she had practiced her speech ahead of time. She went over it in her head, wanting it to be perfect. The girl wasn’t as easily persuaded as she had been when she was ten years old—back when she was Lisa. Joyce would have to be careful to say everything exactly right. She might not get another chance if the girl got scared off again, like she had in Montana.

  The girl. Why do I keep calling her “the girl”? Joyce thought, and then knew it was because she didn’t like the name, Ginger. I would never have named her Ginger, Joyce thought. Well, once I get her away from here, we can talk about changing her name.

  Melissa. Yes, Melissa would be nice. I’ve always wanted a daughter named Melissa.

  Chapter

  Eight

  KARIE’S DAD DROVE KARIE and Ginger to the school board hearing. It was held in the school district’s administration building, directly across the street from Roosevelt School.

  “I’m going to come in and listen,” Mr. Bradley said. “I was impressed by Mr. Wren at the parents’ open house last fall. And I don’t like it when someone uses a position of authority in business to manipulate private lives.”

  “What do you mean?” Karie asked.

  “I heard a lot of talk at work today about what Mrs. Vaughn is trying to do.”

  Ginger knew that Karie’s dad worked for a large advertising agency. She wondered why employees of an ad agency would be talking about the girls’ basketball coach.

  “What kind of talk?” Karie asked.

  “She is pressuring people who do business with Vaughn Enterprises to take her side in this. I happened to be in George Randolph’s office when she called him.”

  “Nancy Randolph’s dad?”

  “Vaughn Billboards is George’s biggest client,” Mr. Bradley said. “She didn’t come right out and threaten to take the Vaughn business to another agency, but she strongly suggested that George show up tonight and speak against Mr. Wren.”

  “Is he going to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nancy Randolph is talking on behalf of the student council,” Karie told her dad, “in favor of keeping Mr. Wren as coach.”

  “That puts George between a rock and a hard place, doesn’t it?” Mr. Bradley said.

  He isn’t the only one, Ginger thought. I’d like to speak in favor of keeping Mr. Wren, but I don’t want Mom and Laura to lose Mrs. Vaughn’s business.

  “The word around the office,” Mr. Bradley said, “was that Mrs. Vaughn made similar pressure calls to other people.”

  A notice outside the meeting room directed anyone who wanted to speak at the meeting to sign up in advance and limit their remarks to three minutes. THIS IS A PRELIMINARY HEARING, the notice said. THERE WILL BE ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY FOR PUBLIC OPINION AT THE FINAL HEARING ON FRIDAY AT SIX P.M.

  Ginger and Karie read the names of the people who had signed up to speak. Mrs. Vaughn was first, followed by three parents whose daughters played on the basketball team. Nancy was next.

  Mr. Bradley read the list over their shoulders. “I don’t see George’s name,” he said.

  “Maybe there will be so many people in favor of keeping Mr. Wren that the whole thing will get called off,” Karie said.

  “Don’t count on it,” said Karie’s dad. “When Victoria Vaughn wants something, she usually gets it.”

  They found seats and listened as
the formal complaint was read by Mr. Hixler, the president of the school board. Mr. Wren stared straight ahead; Mrs. Wren wiped tears from her eyes. Ginger wondered who was taking care of Dana.

  When it was Mrs. Vaughn’s turn to speak, she devoted the whole three minutes to her claim that Mr. Wren was an incompetent coach who did not teach his team basketball skills. “The practices,” she said, “are loosely run social events with no discipline and no planned drills. The coach’s four-year-old daughter is allowed to play on the sidelines, creating a distraction.”

  “Once!” Mrs. Wren burst out. “Once, when I had the flu and we couldn’t get a sitter, Bill took Dana to practice with him.”

  “Quiet, please,” said Mr. Hixler. “Mrs. Vaughn has the floor.”

  “As for his coaching strategy during actual games,” Mrs. Vaughn said, “the Roosevelt record of two wins and six losses speaks for itself.”

  Someone behind Ginger muttered, “Winning isn’t everything.”

  To Ginger’s dismay, the next three speakers echoed Mrs. Vaughn’s opinions. All had daughters on the team. Ginger recognized them as the group who had been so angry during the Elk Grove game.

  “It’s interesting,” Karie whispered to Ginger, “that the parents who are on Mrs. Vaughn’s side are here alone; their kids stayed home.”

  “They probably disagree,” Ginger said. “I’ve never heard a single player complain about Mr. Wren.”

  “I wonder if Polly Vaughn came,” Karie said. “I don’t see her.”

  Ginger looked around the room. Her glance swept past rows of kids she knew and adults she didn’t know. All the seats were taken, and about a dozen people stood at the back of the room. Ginger looked at them and froze.

  The woman stood just inside the door. When Ginger looked at her, the woman smiled. Ginger turned around, her thoughts racing. Maybe the woman is the mother of someone at Roosevelt. Maybe she wants to talk to me about some problem her kid is having at school.

  Nancy Randolph was the first student to speak. When she stood up, Mr. Bradley whispered, “That’s her dad sitting with her.”

  “Mr. Wren does teach basketball skills,” Nancy said. “He also teaches good sportsmanship, and team spirit, and empathy for your fellow players. I think those qualities are more important than winning.”

  Nancy’s voice grew louder and more confident. “Mr. Wren prepares his players to excel in many ways. Instead of having the narrow focus of Winning Is Everything, he puts sports in perspective and tells his players it is most important to fully develop their talents, and to live up to their highest ideals. If the school board removes Mr. Wren as coach, you will be setting a terrible example for the students. As president of the student council, I speak for the six representatives of each grade. We voted unanimously to oppose firing Mr. Wren.”

  Applause rang out as Nancy took her seat. Mrs. Vaughn glared at Nancy’s father, but Mr. Randolph ignored her and kept clapping.

  “I admire George’s courage,” Mr. Bradley said.

  The next speaker, Mrs. Sumner, said, “Beth never used to like sports because the teams were too competitive. With Mr. Wren as coach the game is fun, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

  “If a student wants to play only for fun,” said the next speaker, “she can put together a game with her friends. School should be preparation for real life, and in real life you have to compete. If losing doesn’t matter to you, you’ll never be successful.”

  Several students, and some parents, spoke in favor of keeping Mr. Wren. Ginger tried to concentrate on each of the speeches, but her attention wandered to the woman at the back of the room.

  She turned to look again; the woman was still staring at her. The woman motioned with one finger for Ginger to come to her. Ginger shook her head no. The woman scowled and motioned more emphatically.

  I’m going to talk to her, Ginger decided. When the meeting ends, I’ll ask who she is and what she wants. This is a good time to do it, with a crowd of people around. I can’t go on like this, constantly looking for her, suspicious of every white car, nervous that I’m being watched.

  The last two speakers supported Mrs. Vaughn.

  “She’s clever,” Mr. Bradley said. “She made sure the last speakers were from her side, so those remarks are what people take away with them.”

  When the meeting ended, Ginger hurried to the back of the room, determined to find out who the woman was.

  The woman was gone.

  Ginger couldn’t believe it. The woman had acted as if it was the most important thing in the world for Ginger to talk to her, and now that Ginger was willing to do it, the woman had left. She is the most bizarre person I’ve ever seen, Ginger thought. And I wonder where she’ll show up next.

  Chapter

  Nine

  “I’M AFRAID MRS. VAUGHN might win,” Karie said as they left the meeting.

  “Mr. Wren needs proof that he is a good coach,” Mr. Bradley said. “His supporters talk about coaching philosophy and team spirit, but those things are difficult to measure. When Mrs. Vaughn says Mr. Wren does not teach basketball skills she has the win-loss record as evidence. Everything else is just opinion.”

  “Some players testified that the practices included drills,” Karie said.

  “And some parents testified that their kids learned nothing.”

  “Those were the parents who were angry because their kids got taken out during the game against Elk Grove,” Ginger said.

  “That group is like a hurricane,” Karie said, “getting louder and more destructive by the hour.”

  “I don’t see why Mrs. Vaughn even cares,” Ginger said. “Polly has never complained when she’s taken out of a game.”

  “Last year, Mrs. Vaughn ran for a seat on the city council,” Mr. Bradley said. “Mr. Wren campaigned for her opponent, and Mrs. Vaughn lost the election by a large number. I suspect her determination to get him fired is about that election as much as about basketball. Some people can’t stand to lose.”

  Laura was not home when Ginger arrived. Mr. Bradley waited until Ginger had unlocked the door and was safely inside before he drove off, but the house seemed empty and far too quiet.

  A note from Laura said, I went to the library. Will try to get back before you do. If not, I’ll be home soon.

  Ginger wandered restlessly around, with Flopsy hopping at her heels. You wanted less commotion, Ginger told herself, and now that you have it, you don’t like it.

  The trouble, she knew, was not so much that she missed her parents, and she certainly did not miss Tipper’s chatter. The trouble was her anxiety over the strange woman, and her concern for Mr. Wren.

  Ginger filled Flopsy’s food bowl with rabbit kibble, cleaned out his litter box, and put fresh water in his water bottle. As she worked, she remembered what Mrs. Wren had said to Dana about not being able to afford a baby-sitter, or a night out.

  Teachers get paid extra for coaching, Ginger knew. The Wrens probably need that income, especially now that they were going to have another baby.

  Ginger picked up Flopsy and stroked his fur. She knew Mr. Wren taught his players specific skills. She had seen him do so dozens of times while she was at the gym, practicing to be a sports announcer. If only she could prove it.

  Flopsy began wiggling; Ginger put him on the floor. She went into the family room and looked at the boxes of piano rolls on the shelves. She chose a march; something lively would make the house seem more occupied.

  She opened the player piano, put the paper roll in place, and began pumping on the foot pedals. The piano keys moved up and down as the piano played “Stars and Stripes Forever.” When the song was finished, Ginger rewound the roll and chose another march, “Under the Double Eagle.”

  Playing the player piano always made her happy. She enjoyed reading the lyrics as the rolls scrolled around, and she liked to push the controls to make the song play loud or soft, fast or slow. She decided not to tell Laura that the woman had come to the meeting. There was no
point in worrying Laura when nothing had happened. Ginger pumped the piano until Laura got home.

  “How did the school board meeting go?” Laura asked.

  “Not well. The Queen is pressuring everyone she knows to speak against Mr. Wren.”

  “I know,” Laura said. “She called me this afternoon.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I wasn’t here, but she left a message on the machine. She said she knew my sister was interested in sports and hoped you would want to improve Roosevelt’s basketball program by getting a coach who is better qualified than Mr. Wren.”

  “There are no coaches who are better than Mr. Wren.”

  Laura continued. “She also said that she hoped she could continue to do business with B.A. Catering.”

  “In other words, if I don’t try to help her get Mr. Wren fired, you lose Mrs. Vaughn’s business.”

  “I’m not sure she would really do it.”

  “But what if she does?”

  “If she does, I’ll lose at least half my business. The Queen is a pain, but she’s my biggest customer, and she recommends me to all her friends. I have a feeling she would quickly unrecommend me.”

  “She isn’t a queen,” Ginger said. “She’s a dictator.”

  “She could make Mom lose business, too.”

  Ginger knew that her parents paid half of Laura’s college expenses, and Laura earned the other half herself. If both Celebrations and B.A. Catering lost a lot of business, the financial impact would be substantial.

  “Grandpa and Grandma called after you left,” Laura said. “They said they got lonesome for us last night, so they watched the anniversary video again. They said to tell you hi.”

  And that’s when Ginger remembered. Last fall, her family had made a video for the fiftieth anniversary of her dad’s parents. Each family member had told the elder Shaws, on tape, about hobbies and recent activities.

  For her part of the tape, Ginger had put together a demonstration of herself “broadcasting” a basketball game. In order to make it, she had saved some of her practice videos and then used parts of each, splicing them together.