Don't You Trust Me? (5 page)

It had clouded up and looked like rain, so Brooke didn't want the top down. Irritating, as with the top up the ride wasn't half as much fun. I pointed out a number of patches of blue overhead, but the stubborn girl refused to reconsider, claiming that rain would damage her leather upholstery.

She wasn't quite as chatty as she had been yesterday on the way back from the airport. She seemed to be thinking. I didn't mind. I sat and watched the scenery go by.

“I heard your mom and dad confiscated your cell phone,” she said at last. “That must be awful. I can't imagine living without my phone.”

I opened my mouth to ask her what she was talking about, and then realized that yeah, Janelle's parents
probably had taken her cell away to keep her from contacting Ashton—in fact, she'd even told me so. It was therefore going to be necessary to hide my own miserable little phone—the cheapest model my tightfisted parents could find.

I thought about this.
Actually, I probably should get rid of it.
Couldn't they track your location through your cell, even if it didn't have a GPS? New Beginnings had for sure already informed my family that I hadn't arrived, and they'd know by now that my plane ticket hadn't been used. I wanted them to think I had left LAX on foot or by car and was therefore still in California. If my cell showed that I was suddenly in New York . . .

“I suppose I could get one of those pay-as-you-go phones,” I said. “You know, like, from Walmart?”

“You could,” admitted Brooke. “I—I won't mention it to my parents, if you'd rather I didn't,” she offered. I had to stifle a laugh; that was a generous offer from a prissy-pants like Brooke.

“Only,” she said, darting a little look at me, “maybe it would be better if you didn't call your boyfriend, since your parents don't want you to?”

“I wasn't planning to call Ashton,” I said, which was a fact, since I didn't know his number. “If I did, what would we talk about? Weep on each other's shoulders because we can't be together? Somehow . . . he and the rest of my friends seem like strangers to me.” Again, I
was speaking nothing but the truth. “In fact,” I mused aloud, “who would I call if I had a phone? Nobody. What's the point? I guess I won't bother.” I heaved a leaden sigh and stared out at the horizon.

“Morgan, I'm so sorry. You
are
having a tough year. I wish there was something I could do to cheer you up,” said Brooke.

“We-e-e-l-l,” I said, “you
could
put the top down. And if it
did
start to rain, I could put it up again at a red light.”

“Oh, Morgan,” she said with a laugh.

But she pulled over the next chance she got, and we put the top down. The sun came out from behind the clouds and the wind whipped through our hair, and everybody we passed stared after us enviously.

Yeah, I could get used to this life. . . .

Janelle's clothes were definitely too big on me, especially in the bust. However, they were a lot more expensive than the ones I used to wear, so I spent some time in my room trying them on and seeing which ones could be adapted for my figure. There were lots of things, like scarves and jewelry and even shoes, that I could use, and I enjoyed my exploration of the suitcase. Janelle would be getting pretty sick of wearing the same outfit soon, though maybe you didn't need too many clothes on your honeymoon.

Tap, tap, tap!
It was Brooke knocking on my bedroom door.

“Um . . . Morgan, there's something funny. . . . Could you come and look at this?”

Obediently I followed her into her room. Hmm. Definitely bigger than mine, and crammed with goodies. Brooke's laptop was showing a Facebook feed page. Her finger pointed out a post. I sat down at her desk and looked at it.

That stupid Janelle!

She was supposed to be incommunicado in the wilderness, lying low in order to evade detection, yet here she was on Facebook, posting a GIF animation of herself embracing Ashton in front of a muddy-looking body of water. Over and over and over again she bent to kiss him, in a never-ending loop.

I uttered a hiss of fury. Brooke looked at me, wide-eyed.

“Who is that?” she asked. “Somebody is posting under your name. It's your account—remember? We became Facebook friends a week before you came.” She studied the image for a moment. “She kind of looks like you.”

“She does not,” I said coldly, eying the little roll of fat on Janelle's stomach. “She's got to be thirty pounds heavier than I am, and trust me, that hair is dyed.”

“But who
is
she?”

“Mary Ellen Lipinski,” I said, conjuring this name up out of nowhere. “My
ex-friend
. And that”—I pointed an
accusing finger at Ashton's self-satisfied face—“is my
ex-boyfriend
. How
could
they? I haven't even been gone for twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, Morgan!” cried Brooke, aghast. “I am so sorry! That's terrible!” She reached out her hand and touched my arm gently. “But,” she said, her face clouding over with confusion, “why would she post using your name?”

“You don't know the half of it,” I said, my voice somber.
I
didn't know the half of it. I opened my mouth and waited to hear what would come out of it. What villainy could Mary Ellen Lipinski be guilty of ?

“I didn't want to believe she would go this far, but I guess it's only logical if you think about it.” I stared at the jerky image of the couple, who appeared to be trying to eat each other's faces. “She has been . . . How do I explain? Ever since she transferred to our school last year, she's been trying to
turn into
me. She's copied my hair style—she even dyed it to match my color. She bought the same clothes and made her voice sound like mine. And since I've left town, she's taken over my boyfriend and my Facebook identity! I don't believe it!”

“Wow,” said Brooke. She shook her head slowly. “Wow.”

“
That's
why I changed my name,” I added, inspired. “I didn't realize exactly what she was doing, but it was beginning to give me the creeps. People had started saying we looked like twins.”

“What about Ashton?”
Brooke inquired gently. “He's part of this too. I mean”—she gestured at his grinning face—“it doesn't look like she's holding a gun to his head or anything.”

“I'll say,” I agreed. I heaved a big sigh. “I suppose she started working on him while I was locked up in my bedroom. Modeling herself on me the way she did, it's no wonder he responded.”

“Your parents
lock you up
in your bedroom?”

“Sure,” I said, surprised that she was so shocked. “All the time. Don't yours?” In truth my parents hardly ever locked me up anymore, but I guess I'd assumed it was standard parenting practice when you caught your kid doing something wrong.

She shook her head.
“No! Never!”

I was about to reassure her that an upside-down bucket made a perfectly adequate escape route, but decided that it was better to have her feeling sorry for me. Instead I slipped in a little flattery.

“That's probably because you never do anything wrong,” I said.

She blushed and wriggled all over like a puppy. “Oh, I do
too
! You just don't know me well enough!”

“Name something terrible you've done,” I said. “One thing.”

By the time Brooke had reviewed the entirety of her sixteen blameless years and dredged up a misty memory of “stealing” a quarter she'd found under a
couch cushion at age five, new images had appeared on Facebook, and Janelle's stupid animation had vanished from sight and, I hoped, from memory.

“I'M SORRY, DEAR, BUT YOU
really do have to talk to your parents sometime, and I know they have something very particular to say to you.” Auntie X was holding the phone out to me, with a look that was half-sympathetic and half-stern. It was three days later, and with every day that passed I was more and more reluctant to be ejected from this cozy nest. That Mrs. Barnes—what a cook! Her desserts especially were beyond fabulous. I was going to grow into Janelle's clothes if I didn't watch out.

For three nights in a row I had refused to utter a word to either of my alleged relatives when they'd called. A look at Auntie X's and Uncle X's faces—I really
was
going to have to figure out the names in this family sometime—suggested
that my refusal was not going to be accepted one more time.

“Okay,” I said. I started blinking my eyes fast and quivering my lips. I raised a hand to brush away a tear, in case I found myself able to produce one. I shifted my gaze to the floor as I reached out to take the phone.

“Hi,” I whispered, my voice husky.

“Well, for goodness' sake, Janelle, it's about time!” said a snappy female voice from three thousand miles away.

I said nothing.

“If you can stop sulking for long enough to listen, I've got some news for you.”

I waited, breathing into the mouthpiece.

An exasperated sigh came from the telephone. “Something unexpected has come up with your father's work. There are problems on the site in Brazil, and they want somebody from the firm to go down and shepherd them through the process. Your father was going to send one of the younger engineers down, but we've decided—since you're so nicely settled there in Albany and things are so quiet here for me—that I should shut the shop for the next three months and go with him. In a way it's a shame you couldn't have come, but there wouldn't have been a proper school, not where they spoke English, anyway, and it's not worth learning Portuguese for three months.”

After a brief pause, sharply: “Are you there, Janelle?”

I'd been silent because I'd
been trying to smother any sounds of glee on my end. Could this possibly get any better? Mommy and Daddy were leaving for Brazil! For three months! I turned my smile upside down and said glumly, “Uh-huh. I'm here.”

“Your voice sounds funny. You're still pretty annoyed with us, I gather.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You should be grateful to have such a nice place to stay,” she said in disapproving tones. “Your aunt and uncle are
dear
people, and they have a
lovely
home. I hope you're behaving yourself and helping out.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I do
not
care for the tone of your voice, young lady! When I think of the mistake you very nearly made! That boy—”

There was a silence after that. Then: “Hi, honey. It's Dad. Your aunt Antonia says you and Brooke are getting along well.”

Aunt
Antonia!
Thank you, thank you, “Dad”!
Since repeated “Mmm-hmms” had roused “Mom” to such a fury, I switched back to my other standby.

“Uh-huh.” Then, greatly daring, I added in a near-whisper, “She's nice.”

My brokenhearted murmurings evidently smote him with remorse. “Gee, honey, I'm sorry you're so down, but honestly, it will pass. You'll make some nice friends
there in Albany, and someday you'll look back on this and you'll laugh. You'll think about the great time you had staying with your aunt and uncle—”

My uncle
who?
C'mon, give me his name!

“—and your cousin Brooke.”

I already knew
her
name.

“You know your mother and I are only doing this for—”

“For my own good.” I could not help finishing for him. It
did
seem to be a common parental refrain.

“Yes, honey, for your own good. Now listen. I'm glad we got to talk to you today, because we won't be able to very often in the next few months. The site is in Mato Grosso, which is pretty far inland. We'll be in the Pantanal, which is kind of like the Everglades in Florida. It's a huge wetland, with lots of wildlife. We'll take lots and lots of photos.”

He blathered on for a while about the site and the problems involved in shipping generators through the swamp or something like that. I said “Uh-huh” every so often.

“I wish you could have come with us. I know you'd have loved the birds.”

Who, me? Birds? Nuh-uh! Not unless you're talking about a nice roasted chicken with gravy and a side of stuffing. I did
not
want to spend three months in a swamp, that was for sure.

“Tell you what, I'll
arrange for you to have your horseback riding lessons there in Albany this fall. That will take your mind off your troubles. And maybe Brooke would like to learn too.”

“What?”

“Sure,” he said, pleased with himself. “That's a great idea. I'll offer to pay for Brooke, too. You girls can bond over saddles and reins. Let me talk to Uncle Karl.”