Runaway Twin (16 page)

Starr was at the top of the stairs, jumping up and down as if her shoes were on fire. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson came running from the living room and looked up at her.

“What's wrong?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

“What happened?” Mr. Anderson said.

Starr was waving a sheet of paper over her head. “I won!” she shouted. “I won! I won! I won!”

“Won what?” her dad asked.

Starr stopped jumping and bolted down the stairs. “I won the district poetry contest!” she yelled. “I'm going on to compete in the regionals!”

“Oh, Starr!” Mrs. Anderson said. “That's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!”

Starr handed the piece of paper to her dad. “They sent me an e-mail,” she said. She grabbed the paper back and read it aloud: “Dear Ms. Anderson: I am pleased to inform you that your poem, ‘Lilacs in Summer,' has won first place in the District Poetry Competition. It will automatically advance to the regional contest. That judging will take place in two weeks, and the winner there will go on to the State Poetry Competition.

“Congratulations on your winning entry. Attached is an affidavit for you to sign and return, stating that your poem is your own original work. This affidavit is required by the regional judges, so please return it as soon as possible.”

Starr handed the paper to her dad again.

“I knew you would win,” Mrs. Anderson said. “It's a lovely poem.”

“Congratulations, Starr,” I said.

“I told you she had talent,” Mr. Anderson said. He was beaming with pride. “We need to call your grandparents.”

“It's eleven o'clock in Chicago,” Mrs. Anderson said. “They'll probably be in bed.”

“For news like this, they won't mind being awakened.”

I listened as he told his parents of his daughter's accomplishment. Then Starr got on the line and accepted congratulations. I kept waiting for them to mention me, but nobody did. Did the grandparents already know I was there or had my arrival not been newsworthy enough to merit a call?

When the call ended, Mr. Anderson said, “Do you have extra copies of your poem?”

“No, but I have it on my computer.”

“Let's print a few. Grandpa asked me to mail one to him.”

The three of them went up to Starr's room, talking about who else they needed to tell. “I'll notify the
Courier-Herald
tomorrow,” Mrs. Anderson said. “They'll want to send a reporter out, and a photographer.”

I returned to the den and picked up my novel. I thought about how many times in my life a good book had offered me a way out of a problem situation. From the time I had learned to read, whenever I was placed in a new foster home I got myself a library card as soon as I could. I tried to always have at least two unread books so that if I needed to escape my real life, I had other, fictional lives waiting for me. Books had taught me new ideas and had shown me ways of life that I would not have known about otherwise, and they offered a refuge when, like now, real life seemed too hard.

I was glad Starr's poem had won. I was happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's pride in their daughter. But I wasn't a part of their celebration, or their family. My dream of a permanent home with Starr had been a foolish fantasy.

I picked up my book and began to read.

W
hen I went to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, I saw that Starr's poem was taped to the front of the refrigerator. While I waited for my toast to pop up, I read it. Then I read it a second time. It was a good poem—an excellent poem—but Starr had not written it. I had read it before!

I tried to remember where I had seen it. A magazine? An English textbook? Surely Starr wouldn't be so stupid that she would copy a poem from one of her classroom books and enter it in a contest. She must have taken it from some out-of-print book or other source that she thought nobody would remember or find.

Rita had lots of poetry books and I sometimes browsed through them during the commercials when I was watching television. That's probably where I'd seen “Lilacs in Summer.”

I debated what to do. If I said anything to Starr without proof, I was sure she would deny that she had copied the poem. If she was willing to sign an affidavit, swearing that it was her own original work, she wasn't likely to back down on my say-so, and the Andersons would take her side against me.

I found a sheet of paper and copied the poem, word for word. I had just finished when Mrs. Anderson came in. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.

“I'm wondering if you and Starr would like to go into Seattle today,” she said. “We could go to the Pike Place Market or walk along the waterfront.”

Before I could answer, Starr came into the kitchen. “Count me out,” she said. “Angie and Sarah and I are going to work on our routine for cheerleader tryouts.”

“They could go with us,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We'll take the van. There'll be plenty of time to practice cheer-leading after Sunny leaves.”

“I really need to go to the library today,” I said. “I thought I'd ride my bike there.” I felt sorry for Mrs. Anderson. She was trying so hard to plan fun outings that would create bonding between sisters, and everyone except her knew it wasn't going to happen.

“I can drive you to the library,” Mrs. Anderson said.

“That's okay. I need the exercise and I'm not sure how long it will take me. I'm working on a project.”

I could tell Mrs. Anderson was disappointed, and Starr was relieved. I wondered what she had told her friends about me. Maybe she had not told them anything. I knew she was counting the days until I left. Well, so was I.

The library didn't open until eleven, but I went early and walked around a while, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Maybe I should not try to find the published poem. Maybe I should just stay out of it and let Starr fool everyone. Of course, even if I didn't speak up, she might not get away with her deception. There was always a chance that someone else would recognize the poem. The judges in competitions of this kind must read lots of poetry. If I knew immediately that I'd seen it before, the odds were good that someone else would recognize it, too.

When the library opened, I went to the computer section, signed up for fifteen minutes online, and did a Google search for “Poem: Lilacs in Summer.” Almost instantly, I got several responses and the second one I clicked was what I was looking for. It showed the whole poem and the author's name. “Lilacs in Summer” by Lois M. Kringdell. It had been published in 1896.

I got out the poem I'd copied and compared the two. Starr had not changed a single word. She had made no attempt to make the poem her own but had simply used it, word for word.

I printed out two copies.

Since I still had time left on the computer, I decided to check my e-mail to see if there had been any late responses to my ad. When I opened the in-box, there was a message from Rita, dated last Friday, the day I left.

I logged off, then went to the magazine section, picked out some current issues, and found a soft chair. I was in no hurry to return to the Andersons' house. For one thing, I knew Starr and her friends would not want me there, and who wants to show up when they aren't welcome?

Also, I wasn't yet sure what to do about the poem. I could imagine how Starr's parents would react if I showed the published poem to them. They had welcomed me warmly and I didn't want to make them unhappy, no matter how much Starr deserved to get caught.

I tried to read one of the magazines but finally gave up. I sat in the library, staring at the shelves and wishing I had never found my sister. If I had not come, I could have kept my happy memories all of my life. I would always have thought that somewhere I had a wonderful twin who was exactly like me and who longed for me as much as I yearned for her.

Now I was stuck with reality. My twin sister not only did not remember me, she didn't want to know me at all. The fact was, I didn't like Starr. She was spoiled and self-centered and dishonest. When I left here to go home, I knew I'd never again make any effort to contact her.

Home. I smiled, thinking of Rita. While I had been traveling all those miles, I'd thought I was coming to find my family. It turned out I'd left my real family behind.

I put the magazines back. I asked the librarian if there was a public telephone that I could use and she told me where to find one.

I made a collect call to Rita, hoping she had not already left this morning to go pick up Snickers. I had her cell phone number, too, but she never answered when she was driving because she said it wasn't safe to talk and drive at the same time.

Please,
I thought.
Please, please answer the phone!

She did.

“I want to come home right away,” I told her. “That way we could go together to get Snickers. It would be a lot easier for you to manage a dog in the car if I was there, too.”

“I was planning to leave tomorrow,” she said, “but Charley was flexible. He seems really fond of your dog.” She paused, then added, “I don't think Snickers is the only reason you want to come back early. Things aren't going well?”

“My sister is a total jerk,” I said. “We have nothing in common, and she doesn't want to get to know me.”

“Her loss,” said Rita.

“Mrs. Anderson keeps suggesting fun things for us to do together, but Starr always has an excuse. And you won't believe what I found out about her. She copied a poem and pretended she wrote it, and entered it in a contest and she won.”

“Are you sure she copied it?”

“I'm at the library. I just found it online.”

“Have you told the Andersons you want to leave?”

“No. I'm calling from a public phone.”

“I'll see what I can do about an earlier flight,” Rita said. “You'll need to go back to the Andersons' house so I can reach you to tell you the plans.”

I started to cry. I couldn't help it. I was so relieved at the thought of not staying with Starr for another five days. “Thanks, Rita,” I said. “I'm sorry I ran off without talking to you about Starr. It was a stupid move.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” she told me. “I'm just glad you're coming home. And your little dog, too.”

I laughed. “He isn't so little,” I said.

“I was afraid of that.”

When I got back to the Andersons' house, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were playing gin rummy.

“Starr and her friends went to a movie,” Mr. Anderson said. “I can drive you to the theater, if you want. I'm sure you'd be able to find them. Sarah's mother is driving them home.”

“No, thanks. I need to talk to you.” I drank some water, took a deep breath, and said, “You've both been wonderful to me and I can't thank you enough for making me feel welcome here. But I realize now that I should have given you some warning. It was hard for Starr to have me just appear when she didn't even know I existed.”

“It was a shock,” Mrs. Anderson said.

“I called Rita from the library,” I told them, “and asked her to see if she can get me on an earlier flight. I'd like to leave as soon as I can. That way I can go with her to pick up Snickers.”

Even though they both said they wanted me to stay the full week, I could tell they thought it was a good idea for me to leave.

Ten minutes later, Rita called. Mr. Anderson answered. I heard him say, “Yes, I can take her to the airport. That will work out.” Then he handed me the phone.

“Hey, Sunny,” Rita said. “How'd you like to take the red-eye special tonight? It leaves Seattle at ten. You'd better say yes, because I already changed your ticket and it cost me a hundred-dollar transfer fee.”

“Yes,” I said.

After I hung up, the Andersons seemed at a loss for words.

“I need to pack,” I said, and I headed for the den.

I folded my clothes and put them in the new duffel bag. It didn't take long. When I carried it out and set it by the front door, Mr. Anderson said, “I'm sorry this has not been a happier visit for you. I want you to know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can call us.”

“Thank you,” I said, although I knew I would not be calling.

“You could come back,” Mrs. Anderson suggested, “after Starr's had time to adjust. We wanted to adopt you years ago, and we'd still like to explore that possibility.”

“Starr's very lucky to have you for her parents,” I said.

“We won't need to leave for the airport until seven tonight,” Mr. Anderson said. “Would you like to go out for a Mexican dinner?”

“I want to talk to Starr alone,” I said. “There's something I need to tell her.”

“Maybe we'll send out for a pizza then,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We'll eat at home, and then you girls can have plenty of time to chat.”

“As soon as I've talked to Starr,” I said, “I'd like to leave. I can get something to eat at the airport while I wait for my flight.”

They looked surprised but didn't argue.

The remainder of the afternoon dragged. The Andersons quit playing cards and went outside to do yard work. I tried to read my book, but mostly I wandered around aimlessly.