The Black Sheep (21 page)

“Ticktock.” Judy bangs the gavel. “Wrap it up already.”

I turn to my parents at last. “I'm sorry I—”

“Let the voting begin,” Judy interrupts. “I don't want to influence anyone—judges are supposed to be impartial—but my vote is ‘Yes' to emancipation. Aaron?”

“I vote ‘Yes,'” Aaron says.

She starts with the show's other producers, and to my surprise, each votes “No.”

“I'm not worried,” Judy says. “I only need two more votes.”

She moves on to the back row of the visitors' gallery, where again everyone votes against emancipation. Now I dare to hope.

With the second row, I breathe a littler easier. As expected, Lisa votes “No” because she wants me in New York so that she can have Mitch all to herself. Mitch also votes “No,” which irritates and pleases me in equal measure. Sergeant Newman votes “No.” Walter also votes “No,” and offers me a place to stay if it doesn't work out.

Judy is starting to get nervous. Her gavel hand twitches.

The first row starts well with Carrie, Rosa, and the Mulligans quickly voting down emancipation. But then Ted Silver mutters an apologetic “Yes.” He and Judy must be closer than I thought.

One more “Yes” and I'm done for. I look around and realize the odds are against me. Bob and Chili will very likely support their boss. And Maya, well, Maya could go either way. My parents, with their faces of pale marble, give nothing away.

Judy says, “We have four minutes left, so let's make this fast. Chili, Bob, you're ‘Yeses,' I presume?”

The guys look at each other and shake their heads. “Our vote's with Kendra,” Chili says. “‘No' to emancipation.”

Judy gives them the evil eye. “Maya?” she asks, her voice now all high and nonjudicial.

Maya glares at me for a long moment. Then she looks to her parents, and they give an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Her shiny hair swishes from side to side. “No,” she says.

“Okay, Bishops, it's up to you,” Judy says. “Do you want this piece of defective baggage back or not?”

In unison, my parents chime, “No.”

Judy's face cracks in two, all toothy joy. “No?”

For a moment, it seems as if my lungs have calcified. I look around, panicking, and somehow my eyes find Mitch's across the room. They lock on mine, and I see that he is sorry for me. My chest expands in a great gasp.

My mother clutches my father's arm and he shakes his head, “I mean, we
vote
‘No.' Of course we want our defective baggage back.”

That's the nicest insult I've ever heard. My parents are already on their feet, smiling as they come around the defense table. We meet halfway, and if we were the crying type, there would probably be some tears on both sides. Even so, my mother gives me a bone-crushing hug, worthy of Dr. Ernest himself. Dad settles for a hearty handshake that more than suffices.

There is a flurry after that, as everyone hugs everyone else. Rosa is honking into a handkerchief, and Mona looks a little misty, too. I look around for Mitch, but he's standing with Lisa.

My father clears his throat. “Permission to speak, Your Judiness.”

Is that a joke? My parents don't make jokes, they make rules.

“You've got ninety seconds,” Judy snaps.

“My wife and I want to thank the people in this courtroom, as well as the 453,480 who voted to keep my family together. We also want you to know that we never had any intention of abandoning our daughter, regardless of any decision made in the court of reality television. However, we're relieved to know the feeling is mutual. We hope to get to know many of you better—particularly the Mulligans—as we'll be spending the rest of the summer in this area.”

“We will?” I ask. “Why?”

“Consider it a gesture of goodwill—toward the southern sea otter,” Dad says. “You need more time to win the war.”

I smile at them. “What about the bank?”

“We're taking a leave of absence,” my mother says. “The bank will still be there in September.”

“And by then our colleagues may have forgotten about the show,” Dad adds, proving he's still Dad under this new veneer.

“It was our idea, but Rosa agrees,” Mom says. “She's helped us realize that we have to put our own pasts behind us and give you the freedom to explore what you want out of life.”

“So I don't have to become a banker?” I ask.

“I think the criminal record pretty much eliminates that option,” Dad says.

I wave my hand airily. “Don't worry, Dad. If Boulder Beach doesn't drop the charges, we'll have our records expunged later.”

“We should have taken you seriously from the beginning,” Mom says. “I'm ashamed to say we'd forgotten what it's like to be young and fueled by passion.”

Rosa is a genius. I have my doubts my parents were ever fueled by anything but dollar signs, but it's time I started cutting them some slack. “It's okay, Mom. I realize that this whole thing has been a nightmare for you. Believe me, it will never happen again.”

I turn to glare at Judy, who lifts her lip to expose a hint of fang. “Oh, boo hoo,” she says.

“We're proud of what you accomplished with Team Fourteen,” Dad says, “even if it ended badly.”

“If you're proud of me, why wouldn't you bail me out of jail?”

“There are different ways to achieve a goal, many of them legal,” Mom says primly. “If you're going to go leaping off the deep end, you'd better learn to swim.”

And they're back. The New and Improved Parents were too good to last. “You wouldn't let me take swimming lessons,” I point out.

Mom ignores this. “Have you forgotten everything we taught you?”

“What ever happened to Rule Number Four?” Dad interjects. “Remember,
Think before you act
.”

“I should have made burning
The BLAH
a condition of my returning home,” I say.

Rosa comes up behind me and jabs me in the ribs. “Behave.”

Judy hammers her gavel so hard the fake bench snaps in two and crashes around her. “In case you hadn't noticed, we're already off the air. Clear the damn set.”

I
flail through the water, choking and sputtering as wave after wave hits my face. Someone should have warned me about the treacherous conditions so that I could wear a life jacket. Sure, it would have been humiliating, given that I'm in the shallow end of the pool, and the other two students in the class are half my age. But the water is extremely choppy, and even the swimming instructor agrees that I have buoyancy issues.

But I must persevere. If I don't figure out how to turn my aimless thrashing into forward motion, my parents won't let me go on the otter-watching expedition I read about. I mentioned it at dinner last night, and Mom had enrolled me in swim class by morning.

It's not how I'd planned to spend day one of our first real family vacation. In fact, I was tempted to throw some foul language around, until Mom said, “But only yesterday you complained that we wouldn't let you take swimming lessons. We're
listening
to you, Kendra, just as you asked.” There was a slight twitch to her upper lip that suggested a smirk, but I reminded myself to keep an open mind.

Despite this minor setback, I believe they are trying to lighten up. After all, they offered to come on the otter-watching trip with me—just as soon as we've completed a boating safety course with certified professionals.

Swimming they've already mastered. Who knew bankers are immersible? Yet there they are in the pool's fast lane, creating so much churn I'm taking on water like a leaky kayak. It turns out that they are in training for next year's Ironman competition. This news might have annoyed me if they hadn't invited me along to Hawaii with them.

I drag myself out of the pool, and Rosa rushes over to wrap me in a robe. If I'd known that the swimsuit I bought with Carrie would see active duty, I'd have chosen something that isn't transparent when wet.

Rosa is staying with us for a few days in the cottage my parents rented. It sits high above the shore, not far from where Maurice was released. My bedroom is gorgeous, with the pale, washed-out quality of tide-worn pebbles and sun-bleached driftwood. The best thing about it, however, is that it is mine alone. There are no cameras, no ferrets, and no bratty little sisters to bother me. To be honest, I sort of missed Meadow and Manhattan last night. I've grown fond of them in the way hostages sometimes grow fond of their kidnappers.

“What a natural,” Rosa says, leading me to a deck chair. “Your breaststroke was excellent.”

I snort, partly to expel water from my brain. “That was the front crawl. I think I'm too old to learn to swim.”

“You're never too old to learn something new.”

“I learned enough this summer to last me till college.”

“So why do I have to remind you to put this on?” she asks, handing me a tube of sunscreen. “I was proud of the way you handled yourself in that courtroom yesterday. You've really blossomed. I used to worry that you'd hide in the shadows forever.”

“No one can shoot you in the shadows,” I point out. And black sheep aren't as bulletproof as I once thought.

Rosa takes the chair beside mine while lamenting, “You're all grown up. You don't need me anymore.”

I lean over and give her a one-armed hug. “Maybe not as a nanny, but I'll always need you as a friend.”

“Your parents are doing better, no?”

I nod. “So far, so good. They'd already booked my flight to Hawaii. If they're taking their defective baggage with them, I guess they were serious about not giving up on me.”

“They won't give up,” she says.

“They even got me a telescope so that I can keep a lookout for Maurice. I can't believe they thought of it.”

“Actually, they didn't.”

“Who did—Carrie?”

She shakes her head, grinning. “A boy with eyes as blue as the Caribbean Sea.”

I lift my shades to stare at her. “I am
so
not ready for jokes about Mitch.”

She settles back in her chair and lowers her shades. “Fine, Miss Snippy. If you don't want to hear the story, that's up to you.”

I get out of my chair and perch on the edge of hers. “Tell me everything you know.”

“I know he's a nice boy.”

“Cough it up, Rosa, or I'm boycotting the sunscreen.”

“Well, he showed up on the doorstep with a brand new telescope two days ago. I let him in and he set it up for you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To help you see better?” she says, smiling as if she's quite the wit.

“Mitch and I are through. He
used
me.”

“Baloney,” she says. “He cares about you.”

I get back into my own chair, sulking. “If he cared about me, why did he move to Calvin's after our fight?”

“That's what men do. Don't ask me how their minds work.”

“Well, what makes you think he likes me?”

“Duh! He told me so.”

“I'm the only one who ‘duhs' people around here,” I say. “And why was he telling you that and not me?”

“Because I listen. He said he tried to talk to you and you ‘shut him down.' That doesn't sound like the polite girl I raised.”

“Rosa, he's obviously involved with Lisa. You saw the episode.”

“I saw some images Judy cobbled together that prove nothing. On the other hand, a boy who spends hundreds of his hard-earned dollars on a girl proves something.”

“It proves that he feels guilty. Mitch hasn't exactly been there for me, you know.”

“You need to tell him
how
to be there for you. That's what a girlfriend does.”

“If there was nothing between them, why was Lisa pissed off when he shared a tent with me?”

“I imagine she thought it was inappropriate,” Rosa says. “If so, she was right. You're fifteen.”

I don't need a chastity lecture, especially when there's no longer any threat to it. And I don't understand why this has turned into a discussion of my shortcomings, when Mitch was far from the model boyfriend. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I ask.

“Yours,” she says. “Always. But that doesn't mean I won't tell you what I think. And I think you should use the next month to get to know this boy better.”

“We're not speaking to each other.
Duh
.”

“Kendra,” my mother calls from the edge of the pool. “I heard that. You know I don't like that word.”

Rosa grins. “You can start speaking to Mitch at the wrap party tonight. You'll be working with him on Team Fourteen this summer, so you might as well get along.”

“What's the point? It's over.”

“Just see where it goes,” she says. “A Black Sheep always keeps an open mind, right?”

I look at her quickly, surprised. I shouldn't be, because Rosa has always been able to read my mind.
The BLAH
wasn't the only thing that kept me out of trouble.

Settling back into my chair, I end the discussion. “Whatever.”

Lisa is already on the small stage when we arrive at the aquarium for the
Black Sheep
wrap party, and she steps to the mike when she sees us.

“I have an announcement,” she says. “Boulder Beach Golf Club has decided not to move its fourteenth hole!”

She waits for the commotion to subside before continuing. “They've given in to the pressure generated by national television coverage.” She glances over at me and I feel less of an icy stab from her eyes than usual. “They held out for a while because they'd sunk so much money into the property, but two savvy bankers from New York advised them to set up a charitable conservation area on the land that will help recoup their losses—and, more important, improve their public profile.”

My parents wave away the applause modestly. I'm thrilled that they supported me by joining the battle, but I'm also curiously disappointed that the fight with Boulder Beach is ending so soon. I was looking forward to working on it this summer.

Lisa continues to hog the mike. “The Boulder Beach executives have also dropped the charges against us, which means my academic standing is rock solid. I'm hoping to publish an article about the experience.”

Trust Lisa to turn every event in her life into an opportunity to educate.

She calls my parents and me to the stage, and the Mulligan twins come toward us carrying the ugliest trophy I've ever seen. It consists of a ceramic otter attached to stacked tin cans with a lot of glue. The shaky inscription reads,
TO THE BISHOPS, PROTECTERS OF THE CALIFORNIA SEE OTER
.

My parents nudge Lisa out of the way so that I can use the mike. “My parents and I would like to thank you for this unique tribute,” I say, raising the trophy. “After yesterday's speech, I don't have much left to say, other than that I've decided to donate half my earnings from
The Black Sheep
to the aquarium's otter-rehabilitation program.”

Amid the cheer that follows, I glance at my parents and see that the dollar signs have popped right out of their pupils to jitter in the air before them.

“Someone catch my parents before they faint,” I say. “Mom, Dad, don't worry, I'm putting the rest in the bank for college.”

“You certainly are,” Dad says.

Rosa starts the applause and most people join in. Maya, however, doesn't even pretend to clap; Judy, and Ted Silver are too busy groping each other to bother. Finally, Judy looks up from the clinch and calls, “Did I miss my thank-you, KB?”

I roll my eyes and everyone laughs. “Thank you Judy for giving me a platform to promote a good cause.”

The music cranks up and the crowd breaks into smaller groups. Max and Mona come up to me carrying an oversized gift bag. Inside is a quilt that Mona made, but it's nothing like her usual country kitsch. She has transferred photographs onto fabric squares and used them to depict my life in California, and my life in New York. A Team 14 poster and a bright yellow kayak sit beside Rockefeller Center and the Henri Bendel department store on Fifth Avenue. In the center, is a great big black sheep.

“Wow!” I say. “This could hang in the Museum of Modern Art.”

“Or you could just use it and think of us now and then,” Mona says.

“I'll think of you more often than that,” I assure her.

“And we'll think of you every time we drive our new minivan,” Max says. “Thanks, kid.”

“Don't thank me.” I smile. “The network put up the money. I just decided how to spend it.”

“Well, you couldn't have chosen better,” he says.

I wish Maya had put as much thought into how she spent my family's portion, instead of donating it to the Museum of American Finance History. It just shows how little imagination she has.

“We're glad you won the fight,” Mona says, hugging me. “And we're sorry we were so hard on you. It's difficult to watch your kids repeat your mistakes.”

“We shouldn't have blamed you for Mitch's involvement,” Max adds. “After a lot of meditation, we realized we were in denial about the fact that our son had defied us.”

“And we should have taken our share of the blame,” Mona continues. “We filled your heads with stories of our triumphs and neglected to mention the failures.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't up front with you about…everything.”

Mona's smile fades. “You mean the tent business.”

I nod sheepishly. “We just wanted to keep it private from Judy.”

Max puts a hand on his wife's backside. “I think we overreacted, don't you, Mother? We were younger than they were when we found each other.”

I interrupt before they can go too far down memory lane. “Am I welcome to visit this summer?”

“Of course,” Max says. “You'd always be welcome in our home, even if you weren't our son's girlfriend.”

I examine the quilt as an excuse not to look at them. “I'm not his girlfriend.”

“Give it an hour,” Mona says, and hugs me again.

* * *

“You must be getting dizzy.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“I said, you must be getting dizzy from the way the world revolves around you.” Maya leans over the bar and adds a shot of rum to her Coke when the bartender isn't looking. “Figures you'd turn the wrap party into an All About Kendra party.”

“I didn't know that was going to happen,” I say.

“Of course you didn't. Just like you didn't suck up to my parents by donating your earnings from the show to the aquarium.”

“I donated that money because I wanted to,” I say. “
You're
the suck-up.”

Maya takes a sip of her drink and adds a little more rum. “I can't help it if I have more in common with your parents than you do. Besides, showing interest in that stuff was the only way I could escape the morgue you people live in.”

“Our house is not a morgue!”

“It is, and there's a pair of stiffs running it.”

“My parents loved having you visit. How can you be so harsh?”