The Penderwicks on Gardam Street (17 page)

“Jump in,” he said. “We’ll give you a ride to the school.”

Rosalind peered into the car—and there was Tommy next to Nick, staring straight ahead.

“I like walking,” she said.

“Come on, it’s pouring. As long as you don’t mind a detour. We’ve got to pick up Trilby.”

Only then did Tommy turn his head, but his eyes slid past her, as though the most fascinating thing in the world was just over her right shoulder. Oh! How dare he ignore her, just as if they hadn’t known each other since they were in diapers! Rosalind angrily shook her umbrella, spraying rain all over Nick. “Why exactly is the magnificent Trilby blessing the Sixth Grade Performance Night with her magnificent presence?”

“Nice attitude, Rosy,” said Nick, his grin getting bigger. “You’re not the only one with a sister in the sixth grade. Tonight you’ll be treated to the smooth sounds of Elena Ramirez’s saxophone solo.”

“Oh.” She wished she were dead.

“But you can still have a ride.”

“No, thanks.”

Rosalind watched the Geiger brothers drive away, then set off again toward the school, without humming and certainly without dancing. It seemed now like such a long walk to the school, and she wondered what was so great about walking in the rain, anyway. She thought, I am
lower
than pond scum, then at last there was the school ahead of her, and there—thank goodness—was Anna, waiting by the big front doors.

“Your family is saving us seats,” said Anna. “Your neighbor looks pretty tonight, all sort of curly and wild.”

“Iantha? I didn’t notice.”

Anna took a better look at Rosalind’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate Tommy Geiger.” Rosalind stamped her foot as she took off her raincoat, which is not easy to do. “I hate him, I hate him.”

“You might want to keep your voice down.”

A group of third-grade girls was hovering nearby, fascinated by the drama. Turning her back on them, Rosalind whispered, “And I don’t care who he dates.”

“Neither do I. Let’s go sit down.”

Rosalind allowed Anna to lead her into the auditorium. The last time they’d been there together was for their sixth-grade graduation ceremony. Tommy had worn one red sock and one blue sock—

“I really do hate him,” she said as they reached the row where her family was sitting.

“I really do believe you.” Anna pushed her into the seat next to her father, then sat down on the end.

Next to Mr. Penderwick was Batty, then came Iantha, with Ben on her lap, and then an empty seat waiting for Jane. Iantha, Rosalind now noticed, did have an air of trembling beauty that night—or maybe it was her halo of red hair. Rosalind savagely wished that she had red hair. Or green eyes. Or something different from what she had. Or maybe it was that she wished she lived somewhere else, like on another street, or even better, that Tommy lived on another street.

“You’re soaking wet,” said Mr. Penderwick. “We saw Nick and Tommy getting into their car and hoped they’d offer you a ride.”

“They did,” said Rosalind. “But I refused their offer.”

“Oh? Have you and Tommy had a falling-out? I’ve noticed he hasn’t been eating our food lately.”

“I guess you could call it a falling-out.”

“It isn’t Rosalind, Mr. Pen,” chimed in Anna. “It’s Tommy who’s gone off the deep end.”

Rosalind wished that she’d kept her mouth shut about the Geigers being intolerable, for her father was still looking at her so kindly, and she wasn’t in the mood to explain about Tommy and Trilby, especially since she’d just spotted them taking seats across the aisle and four rows back.

“Martin, you remember how peculiar twelve-year-old boys can be,” said Iantha.

He swung away from Rosalind, distracted, and she sent Iantha a silent thanks for the rescue, then slumped down into her seat and stared straight ahead at the empty stage, determined not to set eyes again on the—yes—intolerable Tommy Geiger for the rest of the evening, if not for the rest of her life.

Which meant that she didn’t notice Mr. Geballe coming toward them until he leaned over her to tap Mr. Penderwick on the shoulder.

“Martin,” he said. “There’s been a bit of a problem.”

Mr. Penderwick was already on his feet. “Skye? Jane?”

“It’s Skye. Unfortunately, she fainted while putting on her makeup.”

“Fainted!” Rosalind grabbed Anna’s hand for support. “Is she all right?”

“She’s recovering, but is in no shape for acting tonight,” said Mr. Geballe. “Oh, and Martin, she said to tell you that it wasn’t deceit, but a real faint.”

“Of course it was, poor girl. I’ll go see her.”

“Actually, she’s asked for someone else,” said Mr. Geballe, then turned to Iantha. “Ms. Aaronson? Skye says you’ve had experience with fainting, and wonders if you’d mind helping out.”

“I’m happy to, if it’s all right with you, Martin.”

“Yes, of course, since she’s asked for you, but I hate to impose—”

“Don’t be silly.” Iantha stood up and handed Ben over to him. “I’ll send back word as soon as she’s feeling better.”

“Yes, thank you, Iantha, thank you. It’s true that I know nothing about fainting.”

“But what about the play, Mr. Geballe?” asked Rosalind. “Who’s going to be Rainbow?”

“We’re still working on that, but I believe we’ve found a substitute. Wish us luck.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

All Secrets Revealed

F
ROM THE MOMENT
Jane found Skye crumpled on the bathroom floor to when she looked into the mirror and saw Rainbow looking back at her was one long blur of activity. Bits and pieces stood out—Mr. Geballe asking if she was certain she knew the whole play by heart, Iantha calmly kneeling beside Skye, Melissa’s fury when she heard about the switch, and most of all, the sense that this was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to her, Jane.

Then all at once she was on the stage behind the curtain with Melissa, listening to the last performance before the start of
Sisters and Sacrifice,
a band called Jesse’s Wild Bunch. Jane danced along to their music, finding them as fabulous as everything else in her world that night. When they finished their song, and she heard the clanging and banging as they dragged their instruments and microphones off the stage, she knew the play was only seconds away.

She grabbed Melissa’s hand and shook it, whispering, “Break a leg.”

“Break your own leg,” Melissa whispered back. “You’d better not mess up.”

“Never fear, Grass Flower. I cannot fail, for my whole life has led me to this hour.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

In front of the curtain, the narrator had begun. Jane silently mouthed the words with him.
“Long ago in the land of the Aztecs, there was great worry. The rain had not come for many months, and without the rain, the maize didn’t grow, and without the maize, the people starved.”

Next came the chorus with all their “Alas, alas”es, and then—

The curtain came up, and Jane turned to the audience, deliriously happy. They were out there, all wondrous four hundred of them, ready to love her as much as she loved them. And she gave them her best. From her first line, she was a Rainbow to end all Rainbows—through her brave switch with Grass Flower, her long march to the sacrificial table, her dramatic rescue by lightning, and all the way to the end of the play, which just happened to be Rainbow’s most glorious speech.

“Dear Coyote, I am honored by your vows of love. But you must return to my beloved sister, who has nothing but you in this life. I, on the other hand, have a great destiny, to devote my life to my people. I will never forget you, and you must never forget me, either—Rainbow, who loves you, but loves duty more!”

The applause was intoxicating. Jane waved, and bowed, and didn’t even mind when she bowed so low her wig fell off and everyone laughed. They were laughing with her! They adored her! If only it could go on forever!

Applause never does go on forever, but when the last curtain fell, still Jane’s happiness went on and on. Behind the curtain was great celebration—Aztec maidens darting this way and that, shrieking with laughter, soldiers marching in and out of formation, priests gleefully reliving their gruesome deaths by crashing to the floor. Jane hugged herself with delight, for all this was the result of her imagination come to life. Then she saw Skye skirting a band of rampaging villagers.

Jane raced over to her. “Are you all right? Have you stopped fainting? Did you get to see any of the play?”

“I saw most of it from the wings, and you were terrific, Jane.”

“Really? Because with all that applause I thought that maybe I was good, good enough that I could become an actress someday. I mean, I’m still going to be a writer, but in case I ever get writer’s block, I could turn to acting. What do you think?”

But Skye wasn’t listening. She was too busy steering Jane toward the exit, her only goal to avoid the crowds and go home. Fainting hadn’t wiped out her horror at the deceit she’d perpetrated. Indeed, since then, the horror had only grown, for people had been so nice—Mr. Geballe, who hadn’t scolded once, or even looked annoyed that his star was out of commission, and Iantha, bathing her forehead and feeding her bits of crackers she’d produced from goodness knew where. If only they’d known what a lying lowlife they were dealing with.
Sisters and Sacrifice
by Skye Penderwick—ha! She’d heard the applause. She’d even heard a few cries of “Author, author!” and had crouched behind a pile of boxes in the wings, terrified someone would spot her and push her out onto the stage.

The exit door was just up ahead, but before they could reach it, Pearson was suddenly in front of them, gawking at Skye with the intensity of a hungry frog.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He shuffled his feet and turned into an out-and-out starving frog. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to be in the play.”

“I’m not. See you on Monday.” She tried to maneuver Jane around him, but he stuck with them.

“It’s only that I just tonight realized how good the play is. When Jane said those words, you know, about life and death and love and stuff—well, I just thought about what a good writer you are, Skye, and how you know a lot about…stuff.”

“Believe me, I don’t know anything. Now get out of my way.” This time Skye managed to dodge past him, still with Jane in tow.

“Are you sure you feel all right, Skye?” asked Jane, who would have greatly enjoyed a long conversation with Pearson about life and death and love. “You know, he was pretty good as Coyote, especially in that scene at the end, when I sent him back to Grass Flower.”

“Shh,” said Skye, for despite her efforts to escape, now it was Melissa blocking their path.

“You look okay to me, Skye Penderwick,” she said, her hands on her hips. “I bet you two had the switch planned all along.”

“We didn’t, honest,” protested Jane.

“Then, Miss Know-It-All Fifth Grader, why did you know the entire script by heart?”

Skye cut in before Jane could answer. “We’re in a hurry, Melissa. I’m sorry if the switch made it hard for you.”

“Oh. Well, I still don’t trust either of you. Just wait until the soccer game tomorrow. I’ll get my revenge.”

While Melissa stomped off, Jane rounded on her sister. “You apologized to your loathsome enemy? Did you hit your head when you fainted?”

“She expected to outshine me tonight, and instead you outshone her. I feel sort of sorry for her.”

“You did hit your head. You must have.”

“Maybe I did, but come on, Jane, please let’s get out of here.”

“Skye, Jane, wait!”

Rats! It was Mr. Geballe. Skye turned to him as though facing a firing squad.

“Good evening, Mr. Geballe,” she said. “How are you?”

“How am I? For heaven’s sake, Skye, how are you? Are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“That’s good,” he said, smiling. “And, Jane, our savior, how do you feel?”

“Terrific, amazing, magnificent!”

“That’s just what I was going to say about your performance. What a family for talent you are!”

“We are, aren’t we?” Jane was aglow with his praise.

“Not particularly,” said Skye, treading on Jane’s foot to calm her down. “I mean, some of us are more talented than others in certain things.”

“Well, you’ve got the writing talent, Skye, that’s for sure,” said Mr. Geballe. “And, Jane, you’re certainly an impressive young actress. Are you a writer, too, like your sister?”

“I—um—am I, Skye?”

“Actually, Mr. Geballe, Jane’s a much better writer than I am.”

“Wow! I can’t wait to see the play she writes next year. Who knows? Maybe another Penderwick will get a shot at Sixth Grade Performance Night.”

“That would be great,” said Jane, though even
her
enthusiasm was wilting under Mr. Geballe’s unquestioning trust. She was as glad as Skye when he left to quell an uprising among the sacrificial maidens.

The sisters made it to the exit door without further interference. They emerged into the first graders’ hall, hung everywhere with bright crayon drawings, bitter reminders of innocence lost.

“If only Mr. Geballe had been even a little suspicious of us. Or if I didn’t care what he thought of me. Or if I weren’t such a bonehead!” said Skye, glaring at one drawing in particular, in which stick figures cavorted merrily among green flowers and blue trees. “Jane, you know we’re the biggest frauds in the universe.”

“Not the universe.” Jane was trying desperately to hold on to the last bits of Rainbow euphoria, but, alas, it was gone. She hated being a fraud.

“The solar system, then.” All at once Skye knew what she had to do. “I need to tell Daddy I didn’t write
Sisters and Sacrifice.
I can leave you out of it, though. I’ll say I stole the play from a book.”

Now Jane had to decide which would be worse—confessing to her father, or watching Skye confess to him all by herself, when half of it was her own fault. It took only seconds to work it out.

“That would be another lie,” she said. “Don’t leave me out of it. After all, you wrote my science essay about robotics.”

“Antibiotics.”

“I meant antibiotics.”

“Are you sure, Jane? Because I really can do it alone.”

“No, you can’t. I
am
sure.”

“Then let’s tell Daddy tonight, and Rosy and even Batty, too, as soon as we’re all home. Do or die?”

“Do or die.” And Jane ran off to change out of her costume.

Later, with the whole family around the kitchen table—even Batty, whose bedtime was long gone—Skye and Jane came clean. They took no shortcuts, telling the whole story from beginning to end, leaving out no shameful detail, no evasion, no careless fib. They were lucid and concise—except while scrapping over which of them was more to blame—and made no excuses for their behavior. During it all, Skye stared fixedly at the ceiling, and Jane studied the floor as though she’d never seen it before. Only when they’d run out of guilty deeds to describe did they dare look at their father. He was twisting his eyeglasses this way, that way, and the other way, until everyone was sure they would break.

“All right,” he said finally. “I want to make sure I have this straight. You two swapped homework because your own assignments bored you. And when Mr. Geballe decided to stage Jane’s play, thus getting half of Wildwood Elementary caught up in your original deceit, it didn’t occur to either of you to tell him—or anyone else—the truth. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Skye felt as small as a raisin, as small as a crumb that Hound would lick off the floor.

“Not even me. It didn’t occur to you to tell me.”

Skye, too ashamed to answer, could only shake her head no.

Now Jane tried to answer, but she’d started crying with such wrenching sobs that no one understood her. It was terrible to see. Rosalind pulled Batty onto her lap, needing comfort right then. Hound, just as affected, licked Batty’s left sneaker.

Mr. Penderwick got up and poured a glass of water for Jane. Drinking it calmed her enough to let her choke out some words. “Not only have we sullied the family honor, we’ve hurt you terribly, Daddy.”

“I’m disappointed, Jane, not hurt. I thought I’d taught you better than this.” His sad smile made more than one sister think her heart would break. “At least you’re telling me now, yes? That took courage. So let’s figure out how to un-sully the family honor. Any ideas?”

Skye sat up straight. The hardest part was over now, and she could breathe freely again. “I’ll confess to Mr. Geballe on Monday, and if he wants, I’ll be his slave. I’ll sweep the classroom floor and clean the blackboard and even the windows and his car. Of course I’ll write an Aztec play of my own, even though I’ll hate every minute of it and it’ll be as poorly written as a play could possibly be. Oh, and I want to confess to Iantha, too. Is that enough, Daddy?”

“Add in a little slaving around here. I’ll come up with a list of chores. What about you, Jane?”

Jane wiped away the last of her tears. “I’ll write a new science essay, and I’ll help Skye with home chores and Mr. Geballe’s chores, and I’ll send the
Cameron Gazette
a letter explaining what we did.” She was already composing it in her head.
To my beloved town of Cameron, Massachusetts: It is my deepest sorrow to announce that it was not my sister Skye who wrote
—

“It isn’t necessary to confess to the whole town, Jane. Only to your teacher.”

“All right.” Jane knew she’d rather face all of Cameron than Miss Bunda. But would Rainbow fear Miss Bunda? Would Sabrina Starr?

“Daddy, can you forgive us?” asked Skye.

“Of course I can.” There was that smile again, though not as sad this time. “It occurs to me that I might need forgiveness, too, for not paying better attention around here. Skye, how could I have believed you wrote that play?”

“Because she said she did,” said Batty, though everyone had thought her asleep on Rosalind’s lap.

“Daddy’s right. We should have been more suspicious,” said Rosalind. “Skye could never have written
I cannot live without the love of the boy I love
—what’s the rest?”

It was one of Jane’s favorite lines.
“Especially if I have to see him with Grass Flower.”

“I could have written that if I’d wanted to,” protested Skye. She’d been through enough that night without having her intelligence insulted.

“But you wouldn’t have wanted to,” said Rosalind.