The Black Sheep (4 page)

“I mean something film-worthy. No one's going to tune in to watch you shop.”

“But they're going to tune in to watch me being savaged by otters?”

“Exactly.”

I sigh. “I bet Maya has it easier.”

“She'll have her share of conflict, don't you worry.”

“Conflict?”

“Too much peace and harmony puts viewers to sleep.”

“You're the one who told me to be likable.”

Judy pretends to nod off. “I didn't tell you to put the entire country into a coma.”

I might have gotten something out of Cannery Row had I read any of John Steinbeck's novels. Literature is not a high priority in the Banker Duplication program. Although my parents endorse basic literacy for the purposes of reading stock reports, beyond that, reading simply consumes time that would be better spent on more practical pursuits. Like math.

Mona mentioned that she owns Steinbeck's collected works and suggested I read them while I'm here. I guess it couldn't hurt. It would give me something to talk about at parties. I wonder if it's possible to become well-rounded in a single month? More important, I wonder if there will be any parties to look well-rounded at?

Mona didn't have much patience for shopping, and kept muttering asides about commercialism. She probably would have enjoyed it more if she weren't carrying a backpack large enough to contain her missing seventh child. When I suggested stopping for fish and chips, she was aghast. “Eating out is a big treat for us,” she said.

I felt terrible, but Judy looked happy about the exchange. I guess that's the type of conflict she's looking for. It made me change my position on being likable: I'd far rather be America's sweetheart than pick fights to keep viewers awake. Let Maya fill the show's bitch quotient.

To prove how sweet I am, I make an extra effort when we stop at a park for a picnic lunch. I rave about Mona's egg salad sandwiches, even after learning it isn't real egg, but tofu in disguise. I play tag with the twins, even though it means running on camera, which might give my parents false hope. I stop Egg from eating a thistle, even though it's tempting to let him go. And I offer to let Meadow wear my jeans to her friend's birthday party.

Judy doesn't complain, but her twitchy eyelid hasn't winked in a full hour. Suddenly she brightens. The twins are racing toward their brother, who is approaching with two other guys.

Bob trains the lens on me, and Chili closes in on Mitch.

“You brought your friends to meet Kendra,” Mona says. “How sweet!”

Mitch looks at her as if she's lost her mind. “I came to borrow some money. We're going to play pick-up basketball at the rec center.”

Judy gives Mona an exaggerated wink, and Mona says, “Why don't you take Kendra along?”

His face drops. “Forget it.”

“Mitch, she's our guest and you will be polite.”

He swallows hard. “Fine.”

I reluctantly fall into step with the guys. On Judy's command, Bob darts in front of us and turns to walk backward.

By way of introduction, Mitch tells his friends, “Keep your curtains closed, Miss Big Apple's a voyeur.”

Realizing that any response I give will feed Judy's hunger for conflict, I settle for huffy silence.

He continues to goad me. “Nice hair. I see it all worked out this morning.”

My face ignites because my hair looks awful and I know it. No blow-out can survive two hours in a ten-year-old's bike helmet. Besides, there's Egg's sticky clump on the side that Judy wouldn't give me time to fix.

Fortunately, it isn't far to the recreation center, and the guys immediately abandon me at the bleachers. Not that I am truly alone. The cameras capture me from several angles and are still rolling when a basketball hurtles toward me. It misses my head by inches and crashes against the wall.

Mitch runs over to collect it. “Sorry,” he says. “Lost control of the ball.”

I do what Rosa always told me to do in times of stress: “Send good thoughts.” Although it hurts even more than offering Meadow my jeans, I say, “No problem.”

Undaunted, Mitch tries again. This time the basketball comes so close that only the syrup keeps my hair from blowing back from the force. I manage a weak smile because I know it will frustrate both Mitch and Judy.

Before he can have another go at me, Carrie arrives. Despite her rude initiation to reality TV yesterday, she gives me a hug and introduces me to her friends. I'd be more flattered by their attention if they hadn't arranged themselves in a semicircle for the cameras. Still, I'm happy to have a distraction.

Soon I am too caught up in conversation to care about Mitch, and I almost—but not quite—forget about the crew. The girls offer to show me the “real sights,” starting with a trip to the Del Monte Center, a huge shopping mall.

When we finally come up for air, the guys are gone.

Under Mona's watchful eye, I am learning to chop vegetables. Max is teasing me about my lack of dexterity, but I'm too tired to dish it back. Between the jet lag and exercise, today has felt like the longest day of my life. Maybe time just slows down in California. I can't be sure: my watch is still missing.

Giving up on me, Max chases the twins around the kitchen, roaring. As if they need to be revved up any more than they already are. He throws Egg over his shoulder and charges at Meadow, who shrieks and hurls a red pepper at them.

“Focus on the knife,” Mona says calmly, as if this ruckus were perfectly normal. If it fazes her to have Bob and Chili watching us through their lenses, it doesn't show.

I focus on chopping the carrots into tiny, uniform squares.

“They don't have to be perfect,” she says. “There's no test, dear.”

I glance up at her, realizing that she would have read the letter I wrote to the
Black Sheep
producers. She probably thinks I'm a spoiled whiner.

Max leans over Mona and blows a loud raspberry on her neck. She giggles, but I shoot him a disgusted look. Chuckling at my expression, he says, “It's just like having Maya here.”

Living life in front of the camera clearly isn't fazing Max, either. I'm sure my father isn't chuckling as cameramen chase him around the house. Come to think of it, Dad is already asleep; my parents need their shut-eye to ensure optimal running performance.

Dinnertime at the Mulligans' is frantic. Everyone has a task except Mitch, who called to say he was eating at a friend's, and Egg, who is confined to his high chair. When I finish the carrots, Mona sets me to work on the yams.

Rosa never let me help with dinner, but she liked it when I sat on a stool by the counter and told her stories about my day. Even when she was cooking something complicated, she managed to ask the right questions and roll her eyes at the right places. Then she'd give me the first taste of whatever she was making, as if my opinion really mattered. “Just a little more basil,” I'd say. We put basil in everything because Dad banned real spice from the house after his ulcer nine years ago.

Mona beckons me to the stove. “Taste this for me, will you, dear?”

I taste the grain dish she proffers. “It's good. Maybe you could try a little basil.”

She snips a handful of leaves from a plant on the windowsill, adds them to the pot, and tastes it. “Good call.”

I'd be pleased, if Judy weren't sitting at the kitchen table, flexing her Donkey smile. She's made me mistrustful of everything. This, too, could have been staged.

When Max heads into the backyard, Bob and Chili instantly lose interest in me and join him at the barbecue. Mona and Judy follow a moment later.

Seizing my chance, I sneak upstairs to the bedroom and dial Lucy's number.

“Hey,” she says. “I thought you weren't allowed to make calls.”

“I'm not, but I wanted to say hi. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. How's it going?”

“Not great. The cameras are freaking me out, and I don't know how to act.”

“Maya's finding it hard, too,” she says.

“So you've met her?”

“Yeah. Katie invited me over. She's really cool.”

That figures. Maya gets a really cool producer, and I get stuck with Judy.

“Well, what's Maya like?” I ask. “Everyone at this end says she's a bitch.”

“Really?” Lucy sounds surprised. “I like her.”

This can't be happening. I've been kicked out of my own home and my replacement is stealing my best friend. “Luce, she keeps a ferret!”

“I've seen pictures. He's adorable.”

“Are you kidding? It's a rat with a better stylist. What kind of a person sleeps with vermin?”

“An animal lover, I suppose. Hey, guess what? Your mom took Maya to the Met.”

I gasp. “How could she?”

“You hate the Met.”

“Of course I hate the Met. That's not the point.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, they didn't go for tea afterward.”

“They didn't?” That does make me feel better.

“No, Katie wanted me to take Maya shopping instead.”

And that makes me feel worse. Shopping with Lucy is my biggest pleasure in life, and now Maya has ruined it.

“I didn't take her to any of our favorites stores,” Lucy says. “She wouldn't like them anyway. Her taste is a little…crunchy granola.”

I heave a sigh of relief. “The Mulligans are hippies. Their kids were born tie-dyed.”

She laughs. “I'm trying to offer some guidance. The show gave her a clothing allowance.”

“What?!”

The door opens and Judy and Bob step into the room. Judy's lips are sealed in a thin line.

“Gotta go, Luce,” I say, pushing the end button. I bet Katie allows phone calls.

“Kendra, you know the rules,” Judy says. “No contact with friends or family. That's why you had to leave your cell phone at home.”

I decide to go on offense. “How come Maya gets a clothing allowance and you wouldn't even buy me a souvenir T-shirt today?”

“You have all the clothes you need, and the Mulligans are on a tight budget.”

“But I don't get paid for the show until it's over and my parents aren't sending my allowance. It's unfair.” I toss the phone onto Meadow's bed and it bounces to the floor.

Judy studies me. “What's really bothering you?

I see her tap her temple, a sign I now recognize as “zoom in,” but I ignore it. “Katie sent Maya shopping with Lucy, and she's
my
friend.”

Judy shows her teeth again. “Someone sounds a little threatened.”

“I'm not threatened,” I lie. “But if Maya's own family says she's a bitch, she shouldn't be hanging with my best friend.”

“You're exchanging lives. That includes families
and
friends.” She throws her arm around me and pulls me toward the door. “Why don't you stop thinking about what you left behind and start thinking about the fun you'll have here?”

A silver blur races past us and leaps onto the bed. Manhattan has my watch in his tiny jaws. Taunting me, he bolts for the door.

Judy laughs. “See? It's symbolic. There goes your old life.”

Bob gives a little yelp as my old life rubs against his leg on the way out.

U
nlike most of my friends, I've never dreamed of being a star of any kind—not a rock star, an actor, a model, or even an athlete. That's probably because of the programming restrictions of my urban-Amish upbringing. If it weren't for Lucy, who lives a fully normal life, I'd be shockingly ill-informed about celebrities. She does her best to keep me up-to-date with what the average person knows, but I still frequently draw blanks when the girls at school are discussing some hot new actor or band. As a result, Lucy and I developed a signal that lets her know I'm in the dark. When I tinker with my earring, she jumps in to provide information about the topic, thereby saving me from looking like a total loser. That's what best friends are for.

All I have to offer Lucy in return is help with her math and computer science homework, but she seems to think it's a good trade-off. Lucy isn't much of a scholar. Her ambitions run the gamut from fashion design to film production to choreography. Lucy's parents don't complain. That's partly because Lucy's grandmother, Nana Russell, is a big believer in letting kids explore any and all interests, no matter how seemingly unrealistic.

Nana Russell wants to save me from becoming a banker. She's always urging me to “think big,” but that's hard to do when you live in a small cage. Even if I had more freedom to develop my own interests, I doubt I'd have considered a career in television. Living in the public eye isn't in my genes. Being practical is.

Now, thanks to one reckless moment, I am bent over, scraping oily residue from a stinky otter kennel while a couple of cameras zoom in on my backside. Something is so wrong with this close-up. Where is the fun Judy promised? Where is the independence?

And where is the break from nonstop education? Mona couldn't just hand me a hose and scrub brush. Oh, no. First she had to lecture me about otter pelts. I know it's horrible that people made coats out of them for centuries, but I couldn't care less how many hairs they have per square inch.

I tried to derail Mona's enthusiasm by staring off into space while she listed the biggest threats to otter welfare, but all that got me was skill-testing questions when she was done. Take away the beret, throw in a sensible bra and some scones, and it's Torture Day all over again. Having been well trained by Mom, however, I quickly regurgitated the key facts: oil spills kill otters because they destroy the insulating properties of the fur and leave the animal vulnerable to the cold; only quick cleansing of the fur prevents death by hypothermia. Mona looked surprised. Maybe her kids haven't mastered the fine art of processing information efficiently while totally bored. She took off pretty fast after that, leaving me to break out the rubber gloves.

I'm on kennel number two, when a muffled voice says, “Hey.”

I look up to see someone draped in a black cape blocking the doorway. His face is concealed by a metal mask.

I raise the hose. “Don't come any closer, I'm warning you!”

Darth Vader takes a couple of steps toward me. “Wait a—”

I blast him square in the face mask. He backs off immediately, but I keep the hose going while letting out a scream so piercing it startles even me. Growing up in the big city has made me a survivor.

Chili bursts into the room, camera running. Obviously my welfare comes second to a good shot around here.

“Turn off the damn hose,” Darth yells, his voice now much higher pitched. He removes the mask, revealing a scowling woman in her early twenties.

Chili swings his lens from me to the woman, and I notice that's where it stays. Even damp and disheveled, she's attractive in a hug-a-tree, no-makeup sort of way.

I lower my weapon. “Isn't it a little early for Halloween?” I ask.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Who are
you
? You're the one scaring people.”

“I'm Lisa Langdon, the aquarium's director of volunteers, and acting manager of the SORAC program.”

She doesn't look old enough to be that important. The title probably sounds better than it actually is. “I'm Kendra Bishop. I'm staying with the Mulligans.”

“Oh, right,” Lisa says, pulling the dripping poncho over her head, “The movie star wannabe.”

“Excuse me? You don't know anything about me.”

“I know that your entourage is making it hard to get anything done around here.”

“But my entourage could also bring some great publicity to your program, right?”

“Publicity brings people, and people threaten marine habitats,” she says. “But if we're stuck with you, you might as well learn something.”

Of course. Why go an hour without a lecture?

Lisa leads us down a long corridor and into a dim room full of monitors. Each displays a different otter, some in kennels, some in small pools. I'd envisioned a ferret on a larger scale, but they're actually very cute, with sleek dark fur and whiskery faces. One of the otters has an auburn face and a bandaged paw.

“Snagged by a fishhook,” Lisa explains. “He almost lost that paw.”

She offers a similarly depressing story for every otter we look at, and I start to see one advantage to the Banker Duplication Program: ignorance. Not knowing means not having to care.

“Will he be okay?” I ask, pointing to the otter with the sore paw.

She nods. “We'll probably release him in a week or two.”

“What's his name?”

“I don't name the animals I treat,” she says, pursing her lips disapprovingly. “They're not pets. This is number 201.”

“I bet he'd heal faster if he had a name. He looks like a Maurice to me.”

Ignoring this, she says, “If you're staying with the Mulligans, you must know Mitch. He's volunteered here since he was ten. I can't tell you how many nights he's watched over sick animals.

“He's great with the kids in our education programs, too,” she continues. “Mitch is the best tutor we have. Did you know he's entering the marine biology program at UCLA next fall?”

Why doesn't she start a fan club and be done with it? “We haven't had much time to talk.”

“He is busy,” she agrees. “He volunteers in half a dozen places and works to save for his tuition. I'll bet he misses Maya, though. They're very close.”

“Does she volunteer here too?”

“Used to,” she says. “She's lost interest lately.”

As soon as I can, I escape to the administrative office to wait for Mona. Someone asks me to help with a computer problem, and I fix it in a second. The Banker Duplication Program promotes exceptional technical skills.

Mitch's biggest fan eventually finds me and hands me a magazine, in which she's flagged an article. “How about summarizing this information for a fact sheet?”

It's a study of sea otter demographics in central California versus those in Washington and Alaska. I recognize another “teaching moment,” but at least it's a change from my parents' curriculum, which doesn't cover anything nature-oriented.

Chili films over my shoulder as I type my summary. After he turns off the camera, he corrects my grammar.

Since Carrie isn't wearing a bicycle helmet, I break Rule Number Twelve—
Safety First
—and leave mine behind as we set off for the mall. Without my parents or Rosa around to enforce
The BLAH
, it's becoming more a set of guidelines than actual rules—guidelines that I can follow at my discretion. Judy gives me an encouraging wink, probably to suggest that serious head injury or death on the streets of Monterey could boost ratings.

Whatever. I want Carrie's friends to like me, and that will be harder to do if I have helmet head. Besides, we might run into some hot guys at the mall. One of Mitch's friends was seriously cute, and he looked intrigued when Mitch said I was a voyeur. It's rare for someone to think I'm more interesting than I really am.

Thanks to the camera crew, the salespeople trip over each other to help us in every store. Some even offer us special deals. Carrie's friend Tia gets a denim skirt at half price and is so excited that she hugs me. I know I don't deserve the credit, but I feel proud just the same. It's like I'm hosting a party where the guests are having a good time. Finding a cool T-shirt and a great pair of jeans for myself is an added bonus.

We spend so long choosing lip gloss that Judy taps her watch, but she doesn't protest when I offer to treat everyone—including the crew—to ice cream.

I hope they don't cut the shots where I'm whipping out my mother's charge card every five minutes. I want her to see I've found a way to manage without my allowance. She's far too cautious to cancel the card on me anyway.

We're sitting at a table in the courtyard when Tia asks how Maya is doing in New York. “Apparently she's fitting right in,” I say. “Who knows, she may end up running marathons with my parents.”

Carrie says, “She'd love that. Maya runs track.”

I feel a prickle of resentment, but swallow it before Bob abandons his banana split to zoom in on my reaction. I'm getting better at this game. “My parents have a lot of rules and they're goal-oriented,” I say. “She won't have a lot of freedom.”

“That won't bother Maya,” Tia says. “She's an A-student and totally focused. In fact, she's too mature for her own good. Her parents give her a lot of freedom and she doesn't even take advantage of it. Last month they let her take the train into San Francisco, and she wasted the day at some art gallery.”

The stork must have switched us at birth, because Maya sounds like the daughter my parents really wanted. Unfortunately, her visit will make my shortcomings all the more obvious when I get home.

Carrie continues, “Maya used to be into environmentalism, but she's gone off it. She hates the way her parents are always chasing some cause. And they embarrass her all the time.”

Tia nods in agreement. “Before Maya left, Mona put a box of condoms into her suitcase and gave her the ‘safe sex' talk. The crew caught it all on film and Maya wanted to kill her.”

The Mulligans might be eccentric, but they're also well-meaning and laid back. If Maya decided to drop out of school to become an astrologer, for example, her parents would probably rush out to buy charts of the cosmos, whereas mine would most likely have me hospitalized.

Since the conversation is killing my good mood, I change the subject. “What's with Mitch? He's been kind of mean to me.”

“I told you how he felt about the show, remember?” Carrie says.

“Yeah, but it's not my fault Maya applied. And if he's so miserable, Max and Mona should just let him stay at your place.”

She shakes her head. “He had to participate. It was part of the deal.”

I glance at Judy, who's suddenly riveted by her ice cream. Before I can explore the issue further, however, some guys the girls know from school arrive. This time I really do forget about the cameras for a moment. One of the guys, Aaron, invites us to a party this weekend, saying his parents will be away.

I'm going to a party with my new friends! A party without parents! I'll be breaking at least six of the top twenty rules, and my parents will get to witness it on TV.

It's Maya's turn to have her mature, A-student, art-loving spirit crushed under the weight of
The BLAH
.

I chopped all the vegetables for dinner and mixed my first vinaigrette. It took a while, but I painstakingly layered equal amounts of cubed beets, carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers over two kinds of lettuce. It was a marvel of precision. Max commented that he'd never seen a more attractive salad, before grabbing a pair of tongs to give it a hearty toss.

He was probably worried it would steal the glory from Mona's tofu loaf, which looked like dog food straight from the can. It was surprisingly tasty, though, because she used so much garlic and spice. You could season a dead ferret like that and no one would recognize it. Not that I hate Manhattan as much as usual tonight: the twins found my watch under the anti-sonar placards in the closet, and I was able to wear it to dinner. I'm never taking it off again.

I tell Mona and Max about the party invitation, coming clean about the absentee parents. It's the right thing to do. Besides, Judy will tell them anyway.

Mona's usually genial face clouds over. “We're going to the same rally as Aaron's parents, dear, and we hoped you'd camp out with us.”

Max's eyes light up at the thought of the tent rally and one hand disappears under the table. Mona giggles, and Meadow and I, in agreement for once, roll our eyes.

“Please, Mona?” I ask. “This is a huge opportunity for me. I never get to go to parties at home.”

She ponders as she rises to clear the table. “Well, I suppose there will always be another rally.” My heart soars, until Max gives her nudge and tilts his head toward Chili's camera. Suddenly mindful of the fact that she's on national television, Mona adds, “But I'm not happy there won't be any adults in attendance. It's easy for parties to get out of hand.”