The Year My Sister Got Lucky (14 page)

Autumn makes a so-so motion with her hands. “For Fir Lake, you sure are. But it’s part of your charm,” she adds with a smile. “And you always wear the best clothes.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, not colored by jealousy or cattiness.

“
You
think so?” I ask, unable to mask my surprise.

“I know how you see me, Katie,” Autumn says. “Hick from the sticks, no fashion sense, wouldn’t know a trendy outfit if her scarecrow wore one …”

Autumn, by the way, really
does
have a scarecrow outside her house.

“Autumn, that’s not …” I start to protest but her knowing smile is so contagious so that I start to laugh. “Okay, maybe I thought that before I knew you….” It feels weird to be admitting these truths and secrets, letting them all spill out.

“And I thought you were a city snob,” Autumn says in the same cheerful, plain manner. “Wearing all-black on the first day of school … acting like you were too good to walk to Social Studies with me …”

I digest this. “Then why were you nice to me?” I ask.

“You seemed interesting,” Autumn replies instantly. “Different from everyone else. I like my friends at school fine, but we all come from the same place, know the same people….” She reaches over and tugs one on of my curls, then grins when it springs back into place. “But even your hair is different.”

“
You
have the most amazing hair,” I reply. “I’m serious. I bet it blows boys away.”

Autumn’s face colors and she shakes her head, the hair in question catching the sunlight coming through her window. “Ha. Boys don’t even see me.”

“No, they don’t see
me
,” I counter.

“You’re joking, right?” Autumn rolls her eyes. “I mean, it couldn’t be more obvious that Sullivan Turner has the world’s biggest crush on you.”

A blush hops onto my face, so sudden and hot that I put my hands to my cheeks. “No.”

“Katie, he’s always staring at you.”

I press my clammy palms together. “But isn’t he dating Hei — Rebecca Lathrop?”

“Oh, please!” Autumn. “They went on
one
date this year, but it’s not as if he’s her boyfriend or anything. Except, like, in her dreams.”

“How do you
know
all this?” I ask, bewildered.

Autumn lifts one shoulder, looking world-weary. “Everyone knows everything in this town. There are hardly any secrets in Fir Lake.”

“
I
have a secret,” I say, tucking my legs up onto the bed. There’s something delicious about finally being the one with secrets. “I think Sullivan might have wanted to ask me to Homecoming!” I recount what he’d said to me in homeroom.

“
Katie
, that’s awesome!” Autumn cries, squeezing my arm. This is by far the girliest I’ve ever seen her behave, and I like it.

“Do you think he’s cute?” I ask. Our back-and-forth feels new and fresh to me. My ballet friends and I rarely gossiped about boys back home, except for Jason Rosenthal.

“
Yes
,” Autumn says, giving me a
hel-lo
! look. “I mean, in that preppy, typical Fir Lake boy way. But still. I like his brown eyes.”

“Me too,” I say, blushing. Do I have a crush on Sullivan? I’m not sure, but it feels pretty close to one.

“You know what you should do?” Autumn says, her grin widening. “Ask him out!”

“Are you insane?”

“Why not?” Autumn leans back against her wall. “Ask
him
to Homecoming! Turn the guy-girl tables a little.”

“No
way
.” I unfold my legs and put my feet on the floor. “Forget it. I’d never have the guts.” I regard Autumn for a moment. “Come on, seriously. Would
you
ever ask a guy out?”

“Maybe.” But she looks hesitant, and I realize that Autumn, like me, has probably never had a boyfriend — which makes me like her even more. “I might. They’re just
boys
,” she says after a moment, tossing her hair.

This is news to me. “Boys are confusing,” I say. “Well, you do have a brother. Maybe boys don’t seem as foreign to you. I mean, Michaela and I don’t even have any male
cousins
.”

“Jasper doesn’t count!” Autumn cries. “I can’t take
him
to Homecoming….”

“I know, but I guess brothers can be …” I pause, trying to conjure up an image of a Wilder brother — curly brown hair, stick-out ears, lanky body. Someone I could watch shaving and ask about sports. I’d always been so content with Michaela that I’d never stopped to wonder about another possible sibling. “Useful,” I say. “Like, you can ask them questions about boy behavior.”

“You can’t go to your
sister
for advice on guys?” Autumn asks me, looking bewildered. “I thought that was the main purpose of older sisters!”

I shrug. “My sister and I don’t talk about boys that much. Neither of us has a lot of experience.” I hope
revealing this fact about my sister doesn’t constitute betrayal.

Autumn raises her eyebrows. “But doesn’t Michaela have some experience now?”

I feel my forehead wrinkle in confusion. “What?”

“Anders,” Autumn says calmly as if she’s giving me the weather report. “You know — the gorgeous senior QB?”

“QB?” I ask numbly. My mouth feels clumsy.

“Sorry — quarterback,” Autumn explains patiently.

My brain is like a broken calculator. The information does not compute. “Michaela … and Anders?”

Autumn nods happily, not yet noticing my distress. “Word is he’s been into her since the first day of school. Has Michaela been flipping out about their date tonight?”

I can’t move.

“Anders Swensen … asked my sister out?” I ask.

In that moment, it clearly registers with Autumn that not everything is peachy keen. I’m figuring it must be the look of utter shock on my face. Autumn’s own face falls.

“Wait, Katie. Did you not know?” Her voice is quiet.

I manage to shake my head.

“Michaela didn’t tell you?”

Shaking my head seems to be the one motion I’m capable of.

Immediately, Autumn begins to backpedal. “Well … it could be I misunderstood…. I mean, stupid rumors are flying around all the time, and maybe it’s another girl….”

“Right. Another girl named Michaela,” I say.

Beautiful, beautiful Anders Swensen. With
my
Michaela? I feel a small burst of pride, followed by disbelief. Could it be? Could it be that he was liking her and she was liking him back, right out in the open, and I was the
only one
who had no clue?

And why does this all feel so familiar?

“You never know,” Autumn offers, watching me in the same cautious way I was watching Ralph Waldo earlier.

“I need to ask my sister,” I declare, getting to my feet. “It’s not like her. This is
huge
! If it were true, she would’ve told me, right?” My stomach is a ball of nervous tension.

“Definitely,” Autumn says, though her eyes only say
I hope so
. She gives me a fast hug. “Let me know what you find out” are her parting words as I hurry out of her room.

I dash past Jasper’s room — he waves to me from his bed — and down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a collision with Ralph Waldo, who’s returned from outside, panting and wagging.

“Don’t bite me don’t bite me don’t bite me …” I mutter as I back up toward the hall closet. Still eyeing Ralph Waldo, I pull out my coat, yank it on, and back
out the front door — straight into Mr. Hawthorne, who’s just returned from campus.

“Send my best regards to your parents!” he calls after I’ve apologized ten times.

“I will!” I cry, cutting across their front lawn and accidentally bumping into their scarecrow.

I tell myself that Autumn could be wrong. For all I know, I’ll come home to find Michaela in her ballet clothes, stretching on the barre in the attic, and when she sees me, she’ll say, “Want to rent a movie tonight?”

Afternoon is bleeding into twilight, the sky a melancholy purple. The air is so cold that it hurts to breathe it in. Piles of leaves are everywhere, like miniature Mount Elephants, and I have to leap over a few, ballet-style, to get to Honeycomb Drive.

“Katie! Is everything all right?” Emmaline, who’s getting out of her car, calls to me as I tear past her, my jaw clenched tight.

“Yeah, no, I don’t know!” I call back, running up our porch steps. Inside, I rest against the front door to catch my breath.

“Don’t spill the mulled apple cider,” I hear Mom saying in the kitchen. “Careful now.”

“I still think we should be bringing wine,” Dad replies.

“This isn’t the city,” Mom says, and steps into the front hall. She’s wearing her black cashmere poncho and her big pearl earrings. A second later, Dad
emerges behind her in his long charcoal coat, carrying a silver pot.

“Where are you
going
?” I ask them.

In the city, dressed as they are, they would have said “the opera” or “the ballet.” Here, in Fir Lake, Dad says: “The Hemmings.”

“They’re having us over for an autumn feast!” Mom says, heading for the door. “Isn’t that polite of them?”

I want to tell my parents that they’re a tad overdressed, but I’m not really one to talk. Besides, I have bigger things on my mind. “Is Michaela home?” I ask. I think I hear someone puttering around upstairs.

Dad nods absently. “She’s about to go out with some friends, though. I’m sure she’ll want you to join her.”

I’m sure she will.

As soon as Mom and Dad are gone, I sprint up the stairs to my sister’s room, to find out the truth once and for all.

Michaela’s door is ajar for a change, and she is standing by her dresser with her back to me, humming. She must have just showered; her robe is lying across her bed, along with a heap of discarded clothes, and the whole room smells powdery and clean. Her hair is wet and hangs down between her shoulder blades. She’s wearing a white halter top, jeans, and black, flat-heeled boots that come to her knees.

Anders Swensen is tall, but in heels, I bet Michaela would tower over him.

Still humming, Michaela wiggles her hips a little and slips on a pair of dangly gold earrings. Then she holds up her gold-pendant necklace, surveying it. She doesn’t look like she’s getting dressed for a night out with friends.

“Do you have a date with Anders Swensen?” I ask, my voice low and even.

“Katie, you scared me!” Michaela spins around, dropping the necklace. Her face is flawless; her eyebrows, naturally arched, are outlined neatly, her cheekbones are brushed with something shimmery, and her lips look as if they’ve been kissed by a berry.

“Well, do you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Michaela lets out a big-sister sigh, and puts a hand to her forehead. “Yes. Who told you?”

Yes.
She said
yes.

I think of all the times Michaela could have told me that the hottest boy in school asked her out. Our walks to and from school. Our lunches together, if she whispered.

I’m so upset that I’m shaking.

“Autumn told me,” I say. “She made it seem like it’s common knowledge.”

Michaela frowns. “That can’t be. Only Heather, Lucy, and Faith know….”

“And Anders and his friends,” I point out coldly. “News travels fast in a small town.”

“Katie, why are you looking at me like you want to
murder
me?” Michaela cries, throwing up her hands. “Look, I was going to tell you, but —”

“You didn’t. You told your
other
friends, though.” Tears blur my vision, and Michaela appears squiggly and small.

Michaela bows her head for a moment. Then she draws in a deep breath and looks up.

“Katie,” she says. “You’re my other half. My sister. The closest person in the world to me.”

“Same here,” I say, softening as I smile through my tears. Maybe this is Michaela’s apology, which I’ll graciously accept, since I’m the more noble one.

“And you’ll
always
be my sister,” Michaela goes on. “But … you’re not my friend.”

I’ve never been stabbed, but I’m guessing this is how it feels.

“That’s insane — we’re best friends!” I exclaim, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. My woolen sleeve brushes my cheek, and I realize I didn’t take my coat off.

“We are in a way, but —” Michaela lets out another big breath. “It’s complicated. You’re
not
my friend in the way that Heather is. I’ve never had friends like her, or Faith and Lucy —”

“What’s so great about
them
? What about our friends back home?” I interrupt, seething. In our last IM session, Trini told me that Sofia had complained to her that Michaela wasn’t good about e-mailing regularly. “Don’t they count?”

“Of course they do, but, God, Katie!” Michaela tugs on one of her earrings and lets out a frustrated sound. “I wanted to make new friends
here.
To start a new life. It’s important. That’s why I’m so glad you’ve made with friends with Autumn!
She’s
someone you can confide in!”

“I don’t need Autumn! I have you!”

Michaela stares at me, hard. “Katie, there are some things you tell your friends that you
don’t
tell your family. That’s how life works.”

Oh, life. Unfair life. My sister reminds me of our mother.

“So you haven’t told Mom and Dad?” I snap, my outrage blooming by the second. I almost want to chase after our parents and reveal to them Michaela’s
real
plans for the night.

“See,
that’s
why I didn’t want to tell you right away, Katie,” Michaela hisses. “You’d blab it to them! You know how strict Mom is!”

“Mom wouldn’t care,” I spit. “She adores you.”

“Only when I’m dancing ballet,” Michaela fires back. “I can’t —” Then she stops herself and looks down at her necklace on the floor.

“What?” I demand, taking a step closer to my sister.

Michaela steps away from me. “Nothing. Leave me alone.” She whips back around to her dresser and begins sorting through piles of bracelets.

“We’re not done yet!” I shout, storming around Michaela so that I’m facing her profile. “You didn’t tell me about Anders because you thought I’d tell Mom and Dad? That’s ridiculous! I can keep a secret!”

Michaela doesn’t answer. She only purses her lips and paws through her bracelets with greater urgency.

“You know I can!” I insist, pulling on Michaela’s
arm. What
I
know is that I’m acting incredibly immature. I try to calm myself.

“Katie, did you ever think that maybe I didn’t tell you because you behave in this ludicrous manner?” Michaela bursts out, finally looking up at me. “Maybe the fact is, you’re not ready to know that I —”

“Have a boyfriend?” I cut in, feeling my face flame. “You’d really keep that from me?”

“He’s not my
boyfriend,
Katie,” Michaela says in a quieter tone, slipping on a few gold bangles. “We’re just going on one date. That’s all.” She picks up her compact from her dresser and glances at her reflection. I can see by the glint in her eyes how excited she is.

I lean one elbow on Michaela’s dresser, feeling some of my fury drain away as well. “Where are you going anyway?” I ask, my voice steadier now.

“Dinner and a movie in town, I think,” Michaela says, a smile breaking out on her face. “How basic can you get, right?”

I can tell Michaela is enchanted by something so basic. “Autumn says he’s liked you since the first day of school,” I blurt.

Michaela’s cheeks turn pink as she walks over to her bed, picking up her gray cotton cardigan from the heap. “I don’t know if
that’s
true,” she says. “We hung out that first night, you know, when I went with Heather to Pammy’s Pizza after yearbook?” I nod, and Michaela goes on, holding the cardigan up to her chest
and looking at herself in the mirror. “Well, he and I talked a little that night, and apparently he told his friend Todd who then told Heather that he thought I was pretty.” Michaela shrugs at this. “And then we kept seeing each other in the hallways at school, and then at the lake that time, and then he asked for my number….”

I’m riveted by Michaela’s story, picturing every moment, every encounter. My sister has been leading a whole other life that’s been unfolding alongside mine. It’s insane.

“What do you think, the yellow or the gray?” Michaela asks, holding up another cardigan for me to review. The air feels quiet between us again, settled. It never ceases to amaze me how fluidly Michaela and I can move from anger to peace.

Well, semi-peace.

“The yellow,” I say. “Brighter.”

“Yeah, boys like bright colors,” Michaela says as she puts on the yellow cardigan and does a spin in front of the mirror.

“They do?” I glance down at my black-and-white ensemble. For some reason, I think of Jasper.

“I don’t know, I made that up.” Michaela laughs — a short, high laugh. She’s nervous.

Suddenly, Michaela’s cell phone begins to shimmy on her desk as Justin Timberlake serenades us.

“Oh my God oh my God he’s here!” Michaela makes a lunge for her phone. If I weren’t still upset,
I’d want to giggle. With her makeup and her bracelets and her Saturday-night date, my sister’s like a character from the ’80s movies we loved to Netflix back in the city when we were feeling silly —
Sixteen Candles
,
Some Kind of Wonderful
,
Pretty in Pink….

“Hello?” Michaela says into the phone, suddenly calm and composed.

Like she has no idea who’s on the other end.

“You’re outside?” Michaela’s voice is downright breezy, even though her eyes are getting bigger by the second. She licks her bottom lip, and smooths her hair with one hand. “I’ll be right down.”

From my perch on the bed, I watch as Michaela tornadoes through her room, pulling on her red hooded anorak (another recent purchase from The Climber’s Peak), grabbing her black clutch, checking her reflection once more, and then starting for the door. Then she pauses, turns, and runs over to me with her arms outstretched.

I hesitate, but then return her embrace.

“Good luck tonight,” I say. Despite everything that’s happened, I feel a blip of excitement for my sister. She’s going on her very first date! With Anders Swensen!

“Truce?” Michaela asks. “We’ll talk more later. I promise.”

I want to tell her that promises are as dangerous as secrets, but by then she’s floating out the door. I hear her light footsteps on the stairs, and then the front door slams.

It’s a Saturday night, and I’m home alone.

I’m
so
cool.

Sitting on Michaela’s bed with my hands in my lap, I consider doing my homework — then realize that I have to draw the lameness line
somewhere.
I can’t call Autumn, because she’s on her awful camping expedition. And if I e-mail Trini, do I
really
want to hear back about her toe shoe–fitting sessions with Claude? Besides, Saturday nights apparently equal
Nutcracker
rehearsals now, as the performance gets closer.

So I stand and begin wandering across Michaela’s room, absentmindedly picking up a book here, an earring there. The once pin-neat Michaela has gotten messy; her socks and shoes and leggings lie in a heap on the floor. I guess cleaning takes a backseat to Anders, Heather, and the twins. I stop in the middle of the room to study Michaela’s biggest poster. It’s swoony and romantic: a black-and-white photograph of a couple kissing on a Paris street.

After Autumn’s dance-dance-dance room, it’s funny to see my sister’s, where there’s hardly any evidence of the fact that she’s a dancer. Only her burgundy leotard, draped over her desk chair, gives her away. On her desk, there is a scattering of pennies and nickels and wrinkled receipts from Pammy’s Pizzeria and The Climber’s Peak. All evidence of her new life. When my eyes land on Michaela’s laptop, my fingers tingle with the desire to open it. Michaela and I
know each other’s Gmail and MySpace passwords. I could just take a quick peek at her messages, to see what juicy secrets might have passed between her and Heather, or her and Anders, online.

But I can’t bring myself to do it. After all, I have morals. Boundaries. Principles. No matter how much my sister upset me earlier, I can’t break her trust.

Plus, if Michaela ever found out I that snooped through her computer, she’d hang me.

So, deciding to put temptation behind me, I grab my coat off Michaela’s bed, shut off the light, and leave my sister’s room. Maybe tonight I’ll treat myself — take a bath, watch TV, and go to bed early. If I can’t find out all my sister’s secrets, at least I can catch up on sleep.

Ha.

At 11:30 — long after my bath and my TV marathon, and after Mom and Dad have returned from the Hemmings and gone to bed, secure in the knowledge that Michaela would be back by her midnight curfew — I’m still wide awake. I toss and turn, replaying what Michaela said to me in her room.
You’re not my friend. I wanted to start a new life
.

Staring up at Ethan Stiefel, I try to calculate how long dinner and a movie might take. Michaela and Anders could have gone to one of those three-hour movies, which I hate, because I inevitably have to pee midway through. And maybe their dinner took for-
ever, since the wait-staff in Fir Lake restaurants hardly move at a snappy pace. Or maybe the date was a disaster and Michaela flew off in a huff and decided to spend the night at Heather’s house.

The sound of an engine outside The Monstrosity startles me, and I sit up.

Through my curtains, I see the light in Emmaline’s bedroom is on — as usual — so it can’t be her car I hear. The Hemmings have probably been dead asleep since nine.

Which leaves one possibility.

My heart hammering, I slip out of bed and creep over to my window. I have to angle my neck, but I can make out a blue car parked in our driveway. The driver’s side door opens and out steps gorgeous QB Anders Swensen. His trim figure is clad in an orange-and-blue Tigers jacket, a black turtleneck sweater, jeans, and white sneakers. It’s a kind of a dorky outfit, but Anders still looks perfect. The guy would probably be hot in waist-high pants and a pocket protector.

What was it Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings said?
That Anders Swensen … Too handsome for his own good … I hear he’s breaking girls’ hearts right and left.

And for the first time that night, I wonder if Michaela might be just one of Anders Swensen’s many victims. Does my sister know what she’s doing, dallying with a boy like him? Isn’t she in way over her head?

Anders walks around the car with his easy athlete’s grace, opens the passenger side door, and takes my sister’s outstretched hand. The word
gentleman
comes to mind as he draws Michaela up and out of the car. Michaela’s hair streams down her back, glowing in the moonlight, and her legs look as long as a fawn’s. Anders says something to her and they laugh.

I guess the date went well.

I’m barely believing what I see as my sister — my sister who used to stretch across my bed in her nightgown and socks, laughing so hard she snorted — puts her arms around Anders Swensen’s neck. Anders slides his arms around Michaela’s waist and pulls her closer to him. And they kiss.

It’s a real kiss, a serious kiss, one that involves their mouths opening and their heads tilting, and their bodies pressing together.

“Did Jason Rosenthal stick his tongue in your mouth?” I remember asking Michaela when she returned home that day and recounted the subway kiss.

“Yeah.” My sister hugged a pillow from her bed, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Ew!” I cried, putting my hands over my face, and Michaela big-sister-sighed and said, “
Katie
, that’s what happens when you kiss!”