Two Naomis (4 page)

This museum is the reason so many kids hate museums. It is so boring. But today it's also crowded and
hot
. Valerie's family doesn't have coats or sweaters, so they seem comfortable and happy, while I sweat and lug around the sweatshirt Dad always makes me bring, like we might be attacked by a sudden cold front.

“Have you seen Rahel?” Valerie asks me.

“Who's Rahel?” I say.

“Brianna's doll. Wait here. Your dad and I are going to retrace our steps.”

So I stay where I am, looking at birds of New York, thinking of what I'd rather be doing, like hanging out with Annie.
Homework. Maybe a dentist appointment. Or a blood test.

“Are you into birds or something?” the other Naomi asks in an unfriendly voice.

“No. Your mother said to wait here while they go find your sister's missing doll. At least it's not your sister missing. Again.”

“She's little,” the other Naomi says. “You probably lost stuff when you were little.”

I keep my eyes locked on a big ugly pigeon and its disgusting raw-looking feet. “When I was too little for museums, my parents didn't bring me to them.”

She just stares at me like I called her whole family stupid. Maybe I did.

“Okay, Naomi, Naomi,” Valerie calls, motioning with her arm for us to follow. Brianna holds up a doll and waves it around.

We all have to go to the whole other side of the museum to see a certain boring thing because the other Naomi has to do homework about it, and when we finally get there, to the whole reason she dragged Dad and me here, it's closed.

Dad and Valerie, who were ahead of us, start walking back the other way, their eyes searching for a missing four-year-old.

“Again?” I say.

I'm about ready to burst into tears by the time they get back with the wandering Brianna.

And even though I'd bet the other Naomi is as annoyed as I am, she acts all
we're sisters and you're not
on me again, taking Brianna's hand and loud-whispering, because she totally wants
me to hear. “When I was little,” she says, “I used to wish I could spend the night here, just like this book I read.”

“That was
the Met
,” I remind her, because everyone knows that. And then they keep on talking in that sister way, to remind me that they're this pair and I have nothing to do with it. As if I'd ever want to.

All I want is to leave this hot and crowded museum. And finally, we do. But not until after we go to some secret coat room, where Valerie and her whole family left their bags and sweatshirts and everything. It would have been nice of them to tell me I could leave my sweatshirt there on this boiling-hot day.

“Is that thunder?” Valerie asks Dad as she hands him a big bakery box.

Brianna starts to cry. Of course.

“I don't think so,” Dad says, even though I'm pretty sure it was. “Let's give it a try. Let's go to the park.”

The sky is not looking friendly, but Dad and Valerie are ignoring it. “Why don't we find a place to sit, and then we can have some snacks. Maybe play some games,” Valerie says.

“The ice cream man is sometimes on the corner,” Brianna tells me, like she's older than me. Or knows this park better than I do.

“I know. I come here a lot,” I say. I follow Valerie and my dad to a bench near a ratty-looking sandbox. Valerie starts unpacking water bottles and Dad opens the big bakery box, and inside there are doughnuts! Well, all right then!

“I brought checkers,” Valerie says. “I know you like to play.”

“Yeah,” the other Naomi says. “Aren't you some kind of checkers champ?”

If I were Valerie, I'd tell the other Naomi to wipe the nasty right out of her voice. But why do they keep saying that? I don't really care about checkers. “I play with my dad's friend Loofie sometimes, I guess, but I'm not a champ.”

Valerie looks like I hurt her feelings. Because I don't love checkers?

Dad gives me a look that says something like
Act like you want to be here.
Which is a lot like saying,
Lie, Naomi!

“That was thoughtful of you,” Dad says to Valerie even though he's staring right at me, making me think I was supposed to thank her for bringing some game I don't really want to play.

Valerie passes the doughnuts around, and we each take one. These are not regular doughnuts. They look really great and each one's different and, okay, yeah, my mouth is watering. I pick one with a lot of white glaze on it, and when I bite into it, ugh, it's coconut. It didn't have the flakes! Or the smell! There was no way to know!

I place it on the napkin Valerie gave me and leave it on my lap.

“Did you bring chess too or just checkers?” the other Naomi asks.

“This set has both.” Valerie hands a big box to her Naomi. “Why don't you and Naomi—”

“This one's missing the queen,” Naomi says, with a mean
look at her sister, who may be burying her doll in the sandbox.

“It wasn't my fault,” Brianna says. “I was playing princess family with Rahel and we needed a queen mother and I couldn't find any other queen and Naomi once showed me which one was the chess queen and they don't look alike but it was the only queen I could find!”

I'm about to ask the other Naomi if she wants to play checkers, mostly because I can't listen to that baby cry again and maybe we could set up on another bench and get far away from all this and start over. But then the other Naomi says, “You are not allowed to touch my chess pieces—” And then sure enough Brianna's crying and my father looks at me and I start to feel like it's my fault.

I take the chess and checkers box and open it up while Valerie's hugging Brianna's head and the other Naomi is looking mean and I sit on the grass and start to set up the checkerboard, really to have something to do, because this is super-awkward.

“Who are you playing with?” the other Naomi asks.

I think I feel a raindrop fall as I set the last two red checkers on their black squares. “You?” I ask.

She says, “I don't play checkers. Maybe Brianna will. That's more the kind of game she plays.”

Which is a mean thing to say. And I'm about to tell her when the skies open and the rain comes down in a huge rushing gush of water—like it forgot it's supposed to be in drops.

If the weather was trying to send us a message, that message would be “You all should not be trying to spend time together
outdoors.” Or, I might add, indoors either.

Dad and Valerie make some weird motions at each other, pointing, shrugging, and then waving; and Valerie throws the big box of doughnuts away before she even notices I chose the wrong kind and want another one. And Brianna's crying, and that other Naomi keeps giving me a stink eye like even the rain was all my fault.

“Is it my turn now?” asks Brianna. She's already holding a wooden spoon, ready to stir the batter while I supervise. Momma has plugged in the waffle iron, so I'm waiting for the green light to tell me it's ready. I tie on my red apron as usual.

“Okay,” I say, helping her onto the stool at the kitchen counter. “But you have to follow my instructions exactly.” I pat her head. I've been feeling very big-sisterish all week. After all the not-so-fun surprises lately, and She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named being so mean to Brianna, which only I'm allowed to do (even though I'm not really mean to Bri—I mostly need to remind her of who's boss), all I want is to do the things we always do the way we always do them.

Saturday mornings, I make waffles. Bri gets to stir ten times. I wear my red apron and matching red chef's hat. I might also need to remind Momma how great everything is just the way it is, so I'm being a teeny bit extra nice to Bri too.

“Here you go,” I say, plopping my chef's hat on her head. “Only for today.”

Her eyes get all big like I've turned from Cinderella's stepsister into her fairy godmother. Little sisters like to be all exaggerate-y like that. “You can pour the syrup on your own waffles too,” I say. “And maybe mine, IF you do a good job with the stirring.”

Of course she gets all excited and starts splattering batter everywhere. “Maybe we can make waffles for Tom and the other Naomi!” she says. “And you guys can be like twins because you are so the same!”

I grab my hat and the spoon, and maybe sort of shove her off the stool. “I changed my mind, cheese head,” I say, because I know how much she hates being reminded that her name is also a cheese. Because she hates cheese. Because she's a little sister, and she is weird. “You're just making a big mess!”

“Mooooommaaaa!” she yells. “Naomi's being bossy!”

“No I'm not,” I yell too. “I'm showing leadership skills!” Then I whisper, “And I know that
I'm
not a stinky Frenchy cheese.”

“Mooommmmmaaaaa!”

Momma doesn't really get that mad. She just finishes making the waffles, and we all sit down. Then Bri sings a dumb song about big sisters that doesn't even make sense, and I cover her mouth
with my hand and get in trouble because I am disrespecting her body. So I accidentally on purpose pour all the syrup on MY waffles so there's none left right when Bri asks for it, then Momma says I have to share mine, but Bri doesn't want them because she says they're too soggy and also because she is a little sister. She cries and Momma sighs and it is NOT a regular Saturday morning at all.

After Momma makes us all some cornmeal porridge, which is kind of a punishment breakfast if you ask me, she lets Bri go play while I have to help clean up. I guess I'm Cinderella now.

“We haven't talked much about Tom and Na—his daughter,” Momma says for the seven hundredth time. “You've been really busy after school these days.”

“Dad and I are working on a big puzzle,” I say. “And we have that chess competition coming up, so I do challenges with Ms. A. and the team, and you know, I have to help out at the library. . . .”

I scrape the plates while she starts loading the dishwasher. There's a lot of soggy waffle going into the trash. “I'm sorry about the syrup,” I say. “I know it's wrong to waste food.”

“Your waffles are some of the highlights of the week,” Momma says, kissing my forehead. “And I appreciate the way you've taken on a leadership role with breakfast on Saturdays.”

I shrug. “Well, Bri totally messed with me today. I'll make really nice ones next Saturday. It'll be back to normal. Like always. Just us three.”

Momma gives me a look. “Little sisters can be a challenge,” she says. “And so can big ones.” Momma is the middle sister, and
according to her, that's the worst. Aunt Bell and Aunt Karen seem okay to me. They always bring bun and cheese or coconut candy when they come over. What they never bring are any same-named people who don't even belong in the apartment.

“Did you and . . . Tom's daughter get a chance to talk a little on our outing?” Momma continues.

“I guess,” I say. After the park, where I saw That Girl not eat the doughnuts we brought—
what kind of name-stealing monster doesn't eat doughnuts?
—we went home to dry off and look at each other until Tom finally told the Other One it was finally time to go. Finally.

Momma reaches out and rubs my shoulders.

“You never told me—how did the board game club meeting go?”

I shrug again. “It was okay. I think a lot of people will be there today, so I'd better get going early so I can set up with Ms. Starr.”

She looks at her watch. “It's really early. The library's not even open yet.”

“Um, well, first I'm going over to Dad's.”

“Well, honey, actually . . .”

Wait a minute. She called me honey. She's not that mad about the waffles and the bickering. Something. Is. Up.

“We, uh, need to run a little errand together, and then I'll drop you off at the library, or your dad's place, whatever you want.” She's talking way too casual for this not to be something I will NOT like.

“What kind of errand?” I ask, folding my arms. “Why do I have to go? We never go on errands on Saturday mornings.” Which is kind of not true, but I play it off.

Momma is making the same guilty face that Bri made that time she put all those paper towels in the toilet. “Just down to the Y. Today's the first day of . . . We thought it would be nice if . . . There's this class, well, more of a club . . .” She's mumbling! My mom is actually mumbling! This is going to be really bad.

“First day of what? I thought you said we were overscheduled already. Oh—yeah, can I sign up for ballet? Maybe, like, for a day?”

“Ballet? No. Anyway, yes, well . . . this is something new . . . and since you already take dance and swimming there, it's not really adding a whole lot. It will be fun! A workshop! And it involves digital games! Electronics! Computers!”

This is seriously suspicious. “That sounds . . . interesting,” I say slowly. “You never want me to play computer games. And who's ‘we'? Did you and Daddy plan this?”

“Well,” she says, and she starts washing her hands again even though she just did. “It's not PLAYING them; it's making your own. Coding and stuff. It's the Girls Gaming the System Club. You love clubs! And I think your dad will be very excited too. We can tell him about it when I drop you off at his place later.”

My stomach starts to hurt, and it isn't because it's sad about the waffles. It's because Momma's looking all shifty eyed, and when parents look shifty eyed, it's because they did Something for Your Own Good That You Are Not Going to Like. If she hasn't talked to Dad, then . . .

“Did you talk to
Tom
about my business, Momma?” I look at the floor. “I don't see what it has to do with him.”

“Well,” she says. And she takes a deep breath. “We thought it would be nice for the two of you . . . for you and his daughter . . . to do something fun. Get to know each other better.” She takes another breath. “So you're going to do Girls Gaming the System. Together.”