The Black Sheep (3 page)

“Can I try on your watch?” Meadow asks.

“Sure,” I say. Anything to shut her up. I slip it over her wrist, and Egg immediately clamps his mouth on it. “You can keep it for now.”

By the time we pull into the Mulligans' driveway, it's almost dark, thanks to an unexpected delay on the side of the highway after the van died. Max, who seems to be more talented with drains than carburetors, took his sweet time to fix it.

Judy didn't mind at all. We could have flown into the Monterey airport in the first place, but she was anxious to document our “honeymoon drive.” She's spent so much time leaning in for close-ups of me that, if there's any justice in the world, her neck will seize up tomorrow.

Happily, the Mulligan house looks normal enough. It's not the beachfront cottage I'd initially hoped for, but it's not the rundown shack I'd feared, either. Rather, it's a tan stucco two-story on a quiet cul-de-sac. Toys are scattered across the front lawn, and a dog is barking inside.

Meadow and the twins, Matt and Mason, surge ahead of us into the house, and Max follows with Egg and my suitcase. Mona drags me into her front garden. “It's my pride and joy,” she says, kicking a soccer ball out of a flower bed. “If only you'd been here a little earlier in the season. My tulips are cups of light.”

Cups of light?
I may throw up before I make it into the house. Seeing as Judy is recording this moment for America, however, I make appropriate gurgles of admiration. It turns out to be good training for keeping a straight face once we go inside, where all resemblance to normal ends. An upended rowboat forms the hall closet and there's a mural of whales covering two walls of the living room.

“Max is an artist as well as a plumber,” Mona says, leading me into a room that must have been a dining room once, but is now a very messy office. “Welcome to Save Our Sea Otter Central Command.”

Our grand tour skips the room I most want to see: my bedroom. I finally ask about it, but Mona is too distracted by kitschy artifacts to answer. “This is the otter cushion Maya bought me with her babysitting money,” she says.

She yanks me aside as a large dog barrels toward us in pursuit of a small silver creature.

“A rat!” I yell, leaping onto the closest chair.

Bob zooms in on my terrified expression. “Chili thought so too,” he says. “He nearly fainted.”

“It's not a rat, dear, it's Maya's ferret,” Mona says, helping me down.

The ferret arches and hisses, his tail sticking straight up like a bottle brush. The dog backs up until his wagging tail swipes a glass otter off the coffee table. It shatters on the floor.

“Not another one,” Mona sighs, pushing the shards away with her foot as the ferret scrambles onto a bookshelf. “He's a troublemaker, but Maya adores Manhattan.”

It takes me a second to clue in. “That's the ferret's name?”

Mona nods. “Maya's been dreaming of visiting New York for years.”

“There are a lot of M-names around here,” I say.

Delighted that I noticed, Mona says, “It's our thing. You know—how every family has its thing?”

Mine doesn't have a thing. Unless you count the rules.

Manhattan deliberately brushes against my shoulder from the shelf. With Meadow now standing beside me grinning, I try not to squeal. My mother claims to have allergies, so I've never had a regular pet, let alone an exotic one.

“Wow, Manhattan usually isn't that nice,” Meadow says. “He has Maya's personality.”

Mona clucks disapprovingly and leads us through the kitchen and out the patio doors. As I emerge, more than two dozen people yell, “Surprise!” Stretched between two trees is a banner reading,
WELCOME, KENDRA, OUR BLACK SHEEP
!

Although I'm embarrassed at having so many eyes upon me, I can't help but smile. I've never had a surprise party before.

And a party it is. The barbecue is smoking, the stereo is cranked, and there are two picnic tables covered in salads and a huge array of the snack foods I never get to eat at home. Soon I am feeling so much better about this whole adventure that I barely grumble when Tess jumps out from behind a shrub to powder my blemish. Bob and Chili are too busy clear-cutting the table to bother capturing the moment.

Judy comes toward me with a girl about my age. “This is Carrie Watson,” she says. “Maya's best friend. She lives next door.”

It occurs to me that someone may be introducing Lucy to Maya in New York right now. I don't know whether to be happy, because Lucy can tell me all about her, or jealous. They'd better not hit it off.

Carrie offers me a soda and waits until Judy is out of earshot before saying, “Maya and I aren't best friends anymore. She hasn't wanted to hang out for a while.”

“Why not?” I ask. Carrie seems nice to me. She's dark and pretty in a sporty way, and her denim capris and lululemon hoodie reassure me that Monterey isn't some remote outpost beyond the reach of fashion.

Meadow pulls her head out of the Cheetos bowl long enough to answer. “Because Maya's a bitch.”

Mona appears out of nowhere. “Now, Meadow. Maya's been frustrated lately, that's all. She'll come back from New York her old self.”

“Don't count on it,” Meadow says.

“I'm so sorry, girls,” Mona says, towing Meadow away. “This is what happens when I let them eat junk food. Normally we have a very healthy house.”

Another hope dashed. “Is Maya really that bad?” I ask Carrie, piling Cheetos onto my plate while I have the chance.

Carrie nods. “But Mitch makes up for it. He's sweet.”

“Who's Mitch?”

“Maya's older brother. He's hot, too.”

“Really.” I toss my Cheetos into the trash. A hot older brother is so much better than junk food.

“Yeah, but he's pissed about the whole
Black Sheep
thing. He asked my brother if he could stay at our place while you're here, but the Mulligans refused. He's boycotting the barbecue, though.”

Well, that's just great. I've driven a sweet, hot guy out of his own house before he's even met me. “It won't be so bad,” I say. “The crew is really nice.” The lie sticks in my throat with the Cheeto dust.

“Mitch will come around,” she says. “It's got to be easier than living with Maya.”

I squeeze her arm to silence her because I notice that Judy and Bob have crept up to record our conversation. Carrie's mouth forms a perfect
O
as she realizes what she's just told America.

Turning to Judy, I ask, “You can edit Carrie's comments, can't you?”

She shakes her head. “The neighbors signed waivers.”

“But Carrie didn't realize, and she has to live here after we're gone,” I insist. “Can't you give her one free pass?”

Judy rolls her eyes at Bob. “Free passes don't equal good ratings, KB.”

I switch off the lamp on the bedside table, and it immediately flicks back on. Now I fully understand why Maya is A) a bitch, and B) sleeping in my bedroom (with
en suite
bathroom) in Manhattan right now.

Meadow is staring at me from the other twin bed. “I'm not tired yet,” she says.

“Well, I am. It's been a really long day.”

I click off the light again, pull the homemade quilt under my chin, and try to relax. I'm a little nervous in this house. Even this late at night, there are distant rustling sounds. And it smells of…people. Not unpleasant, necessarily, but lived-in.

There's a soft thud as something lands on the bed. I scream, and Meadow turns the light on. “Relax, it's just Manhattan.”

The little beast puts two paws on my stomach and stares at me with shiny brown eyes. “Can you get him off me?”

Meadow shakes her head. “He always sleeps with Maya. If we shut him out, he'll just scratch on the door.” She switches off the light again.

The ferret steps onto my chest and stands there for a few moments, confirming the location of my jugular. Eventually he turns a few times and settles down. Pretending to be asleep. Waiting.

Meadow's voice comes out of the darkness. “Kendra?”

“What?”

“Can I borrow your jeans tomorrow?”

“They wouldn't fit you, Meadow.”

“Sure they would. I'm as big as you. And I can roll up the legs.”

I grit my teeth. “I'll think about it. Now go to sleep.”

She's quiet for a few minutes and then, “Kendra?

“Yeah?”

“What are your parents like?”

I consider for a moment. “Busy. They work a lot. They run marathons.”

“But are they nice?”

That's a good question. I don't know the answer to it. “I guess so.”

“Will they be nice to Maya?”

I reach over to turn the light on, careful not to disturb the ferret, who's curled in a tight disk. “Are you worried about your sister?”

Meadow wrinkles her nose in disdain. “No.”

“She'll be fine. I'm sure she's sound asleep right now, and I bet she likes my bedroom.”

“She'd better not get any ideas about staying there.”

I smile at her. “I thought you said she's a bitch.”

“But that doesn't mean I want her to go for good.”

“Don't worry, she'll be back before you know it.” I switch the light off.

“Kendra?”

“Now what?”

“Have you had your period yet?”

“I'm fifteen, what do you think?”

“I heard that if you're too skinny, you won't get it.”

“You'll get it. And it's no big thrill, believe me.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not right now,” I say. No need to tell her the truth, which is that with the Secretaries of Defense on duty, I hardly ever meet guys, let alone go out with them. So far, the closest I've come is with Jason, a guy I met in music history last year. Rosa let me go to Starbucks with him after class, but for reasons of job security, she sat at another table—close enough to hear me scream for help, but far enough away that I had the illusion of independence.

We did this for a few weeks and Jason never knew we had a chaperone. Finally, at the exact moment he officially asked me out, I realized that I didn't even like him because all he ever talked about was himself. Rosa sensed the change instantly. She walked over to the door, pulled her cell phone out of her bag, and called mine. I picked up and she said, “Tell him you really like him as a friend, but you're not interested in him
that
way. Then excuse yourself.”

Having my nanny coach me on how to dump a guy doesn't rank among my proudest moments, but it worked.

Meadow flicks the light on and props herself on one elbow. “Have you ever kissed a boy?”

I flick the light off. “You're not supposed to ask people questions like that.”

“Maya has,” she says into the darkness. “Lots of times.”

“Well, that's nice for Maya.”

“You haven't, I can tell. Mom says I can read minds.”

“Yeah? What's my mind telling you right now?”

“Fine,” she says, sounding miffed. “I'll go to sleep. But just remember, I can make or break your stay here.”

I snort and roll over onto my side—gently, though, so that Manhattan slides off me and onto the bed without even waking.

That's when I notice the red eye of the camera gleaming from the corner above the door. It keeps me awake long after Meadow's chatter finally ceases.

I
'm barely out of the shower when Mona knocks on the door. “Kendra? I hate to rush you, but Max needs to get into the bathroom. He's going to be late.”

“Could he use another one?” I ask, toweling off. “I just got started here.” Judging from the fur growing on her legs, Mona has no clue how long it takes to pull a polished look together.

“There's only one, and it's a popular place in the morning,” she says. “Remember I pointed out the roster? Everyone gets fifteen minutes. I'm afraid you're running over.”

“Sorry,” I call to Mona. “I'll be right out.” I hope I didn't sound all uptown-snob there, but it never occurred to me they'd only have one bathroom. Max is a plumber: he should spend less time Saving Our Sea Otters and more on the bathroom crisis in his own home. Had I realized, I wouldn't have wasted half my allotted time on a security sweep to see if Judy had installed tiny cameras in the showerhead or toilet tissue roll.

Throwing my pajamas back on, I hurry down the hall to the bedroom. Though Meadow was sound asleep when I left, she managed to get up and out while I was gone. At ten, I probably wasn't concerned about personal grooming either. Now, as Maya's mirror verifies, I need to be concerned. My limp, lifeless locks can only be salvaged with volumizer and a blow dryer, both of which I left behind in the bathroom.

Limp hair isn't my only challenge. I have my parents' dull gray eyes (although theirs are beady and mine are normal-size), and I'm prone to breaking out at the worst possible times, such as after learning that I'm starring in a reality show. Fortunately, I also have good bone structure and a nice smile. My parents came through there.

I wait a full twenty minutes before skulking back down the hall to the bathroom. The door is closed, but when I call Max's name, there's no answer.

I push the door open, step into the bathroom, and freeze. Standing in front of the sink brushing his teeth is a naked man. It isn't Max, unless Max has lost forty pounds and gained a full head of hair overnight. Nor is Max likely to have such pronounced tan lines.

By the time my eyes make the long climb from the guy's hip to his face, he's turned to stare at me in the mirror, toothbrush suspended in midair. It must be Mitch, I realize, because he's not much older than I am.

“Excuse me,” I say, still frozen to the spot.

“Do you mind?” he asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Keeping my eyes well above sea level, I reverse course until something blocks my exit. Make that some
one
: Judy.

“Morning, KB!” she says, flashing me a grin as she steps aside to give Bob a clear shot. “I see you've met Mitch.”

“Not exactly.”

She grabs a towel off the rack and tosses it to Mitch. “Put something on, cutie, this is a G-rated show.”

He rinses his mouth before putting the towel on, and I sneak another look at the tan lines. I've never had the opportunity to examine the male form at such close range before, unless you count the marble sculptures at the Met.

“Bob, zoom in on Mitch, but stay off Kendra. She looks pretty rough today.”

Mitch laughs, although he doesn't show any teeth. “It's nothing her make-up artist can't fix,” he says.

“Tess has already gone back to L.A.,” Judy says. “Poor Kendra's on her own from here on in.”

I glare at Mitch. “When you've finished mocking me, maybe you could hand me my blow dryer.”

“When you've finished invading my privacy, maybe you could close the door behind you,” he says, handing it to me.

I turn to go, giving the door a good slam on my way out. It might have made a bigger statement to Mitch if Bob and Judy weren't still inside.

Mitch may be hot, but he's not sweet at all. And he's not very bright, either, as those tan lines certainly prove. Melanoma is no laughing matter.

Mona is lifting slices of French toast out of a skillet when I come into the kitchen, and the crew is crowding around the counter, plates outstretched. Now I can see why they selected the Mulligans as my host family: Mona is used to feeding an army. The crew in New York is going to starve to death; my parents don't even know where the kitchen is.

Meadow, who is dipping the bread into the egg mixture, gives me a smug smile. She's wearing my jeans.

“What are you looking at?” she asks.

“The egg splatters on my jeans,” I retort.

Mona turns to her daughter. “Did you take Kendra's jeans?”

The defiance on Meadow's face evaporates. “She said I could.”

“I didn't say she couldn't,” I say. “But I said they'd be too big, and they are.”

Meadow snorts. “I didn't even need your belt.”

“Don't push your luck,” Mona tells her.

Noticing that Meadow's bony wrist is bare, I ask, “Has anyone seen my watch?”

The Mulligans look at each other before chiming, “Manhattan.” It takes me a moment to realize they mean the ferret, not the city. Mona sends the twins to hunt for my watch in Manhattan's favorite hiding places. Then she offers me three slices of French toast.

Egg lets out a screech as I pass his high chair.

“How cute,” Judy comments from the table. “The baby wants to say good morning. Give him a kiss, KB.” She nods at Chili, who drops his fork and picks up his camera.

Egg's round face is covered with syrup and crusty bits. It's not an inviting prospect, but I feel obliged to lean over and plant my lips on the cleanest part of his cheek. He promptly grabs a clump of my hair and squeals with glee.

I squeal myself, but it isn't with glee. Meadow giggles until Mona shushes her. “Kendra isn't used to being around babies,” she says, prying Egg's sticky fingers off my hair one by one. “I hear you met Mitch this morning, dear.”

I dart a glance at Judy. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Mona says. “Judy mentioned you ran into each other.”

Judy winks to let me know she hasn't provided details, and kindly changes the subject. “So, what'll it be today, folks?”

“I thought we'd go sightseeing,” Mona says. “What do you like to do, Kendra?”

Before I can answer, Meadow recommends a local amusement park.

It sounds all right to me, but Mona frowns. “We can do better than that. Kendra's here to learn about Monterey's history and discover our beautiful coastline. Let's take a hike.”

The prospect of discovering the coastline with Mona, Meadow, the twins, Egg, and the entire crew in tow isn't very appealing. Besides, I've never been on a real hike. It sounds like work. As does the history lesson.

Judy suggests a bike ride instead. “You could check out Cannery Row and Fisherman's Wharf.” I start to protest but then she adds the magic words: “There are stores.”

That's different. Shopping is something my parents actually permit occasionally, because banker clones need to present well. In fact, before I left yesterday, my mother tucked a credit card into my hand “for emergencies.” My favorite jeans are a mess, which constitutes a fashion emergency, if you ask me. “Sounds good,” I say.

“A bike ride it is,” Mona says. “But first our chores.” She points to the roster on the refrigerator. “Kendra, you're taking over Maya's, which means you're on dish duty.”

Chores? The whole point of this trip was to gain freedom, not more work. But it would be rude to complain. “Sure, where's the dishwasher?”

Mona puts the dishcloth in my hand and pats my back. “Right here.”

Though normally in a tearing hurry, Judy has all the time in the world to shoot me cleaning up after the crew. Finally she cuts the camera and says, “Let's go, Cinderella.”

I toss the dishcloth at her, but Bob gallantly reaches out and intercepts it.

* * *

I haven't been on a bike in a few years. Opportunities to ride are few and far between in New York. Dad, usually so anxious that I get proper exercise, is more anxious still about my risking death under a cab's tires. He's invested fifteen years in me and won't relax until I'm safely locked up in some office tower.

Maya looks normal enough in the family photos, but she must have an oversize cranium, because her bike helmet immediately tips forward and covers my face. Once Meadow stops laughing, she offers me hers and digs up another for herself. So not only do I have the physique of a ten-year-old, but I have a pinhead as well?

“Be grateful, KB,” Judy says, sensing my thoughts. “It could have been Egg's.”

I set off down the street without answering, and Meadow pedals madly after me with the twins. Mona brings up the rear, her genie pants billowing in the wind. Egg is in a seat on the back of her bike. Having been trained by my father, I follow standard safety rules, including using lame hand signals. The twins laugh so hard at this that they veer into traffic and Mona screams. As if we weren't causing enough of a commotion, what with Judy and the crew following in two white vans.

Roaring up beside me, Judy shouts, “Slow down and chat with Mona.” She raises a walkie-talkie to her lips to communicate with the crew in the second van. “This is Wolf One to Wolf Two. Get a close-up of the mutton. I'm sending the lamb back there now. Over.”

“What am I supposed to talk to Mona about? It's not like we have anything in common.”

“Talk about anything. Be spontaneous.”

I may know the hand signal for a left turn, but I suck at spontaneous. Plus, my last impulsive moment got me into this mess. Fortunately, I know Judy well enough by now to realize she has something specific in mind. “Give me some ideas.”

“Ask her what she likes to do in her spare time,” she prompts.

I let Mona catch up to me, and while Bob leans out of the van to capture the moment, I ask, “Do you have any hobbies, Mona?”

“Oh, yes, I love quilting,” she puffs, pedaling hard to keep up. “And macramé. But I hardly have time for them anymore because of our work with SORAC.”

“SORAC?”

She nods. “The Sea Otter Research and Conservation program at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Southern sea otters were almost extinct at one time, and we're helping them fight their way back.”

“Interesting,” I say, although it's not. I'm open to learning about marine life, but only if it features cute guys on surfboards.

“The entire family is involved, even the little ones. Max is on several committees, I teach public education courses, and Mitch is a tracker.”

“What does he keep track of?” I ask. How many house-guests he insults?

“Rehabilitated otters. After they're released to the wild, someone needs to keep an eye on them for a while to make sure they stay healthy. He's been doing it for years.”

That doesn't sound like the jerk I met in the bathroom this morning. Someone in this family has a split personality. Or maybe he just prefers animals to humans.

“Anyway,” Mona continues, “this is a cause dear to our hearts, and we're hoping you'll help out while you're here.”

“Help
how
?” I ask suspiciously. I knew Judy had something up her sleeve. The Mulligans must be recruiting for SNORAC.

“For starters, I was thinking you might come to the aquarium tomorrow. I volunteered to work with some otters that got caught in an oil slick.”

I ponder for a moment. “Do they bite?”

Meadow, now riding so close to me that we risk locking pedals, says, “Maya isn't afraid of anything.”

I'll bet she's afraid of my parents.

Mona ignores Meadow. “Not to worry, you're too young to handle the wildlife anyway. What we really need is help cleaning out the kennels.”

“I have plans for tomorrow.” I respond.

Judy shouts from the van, “Yeah, plans to clean kennels.”

So much for spontaneity.

* * *

By the time we reach Fisherman's Wharf, our party of six has become a virtual parade. Over a dozen kids have joined us en route, attracted by the cameras.

Noticing that I'm at the center of the action, someone asks, “Hey, are you making a movie?”

Meadow saves me the trouble of answering. “We're starring in a reality show called
The Black Sheep
.”

We?

The kid races around to tell everyone else. Some pull out cell phones to call their friends.

Judy herds everyone out of the way, explaining that this is supposed to look like a
natural family outing
.

“Please. You called in the whole crew to capture our arrival,” I say. “There's nothing natural about it.”

“Natural doesn't make for good TV,” she agrees. “Television shows need structure and a story line.”

“What's my story line?” I ask, a little worried.

She smiles enigmatically. “It's evolving as we go. I'm hoping you'll get off your butt and do something interesting.”

“Wait till you see what I can do with a credit card.”