by ten o'clock at night.'
She'd forgotten that, and it was another requirement handed down by the judge. Hastily, she amended her statement. 'Well, I wasn't exactly
'Did your mother approve of that?'
'Um, she didn't know. She was out.'
'I see,' Mr. Gonzalez said. He picked up a pen and jotted something down in the notebook that was open on his desk. Jenna stiffened.
'She wasn't out all night or anything like that,' she said. 'She was home before eleven.'
'And she let your friends stay?'
Jenna thought quickly. 'Uh, she didn't know they were there. They were in my room and the door was closed.'
Was he buying it? She searched his mind and saw that it was cloudy with doubts. She had to move the conversation along, so she improvised. 'Um, one of the guys in my crew, he, uh, offered me some drugs, but I said no. And I made him leave,' she added.
'That's good,' he said. 'Were you tempted to take the drugs?'
'Oh, no,' Jenna assured him. 'I never touch drugs anymore.' Actually, she'd never even tried drugs, but it was one of the reasons she'd been arrested six months ago-she'd been with people who were high. She didn't mind people thinking that she'd been into drugs at one time. It was good for her bad reputation.
To her relief, the topic of conversation shifted to classes and grades-much safer subjects for Jenna. Not that she was doing brilliantly, but she'd managed to keep her performance at slightly below average, doing just well enough to keep her from getting reported to anyone official. She didn't want to do any better than that-it wouldn't be good for her image.
Thank goodness Mr. Gonzalez couldn't read
She hadn't been with her 'crew.' She really didn't have a crew, unless she counted the sad bunch she sometimes lingered with around the train station, when anything was better than being in her own house.
She'd actually been at home the evening before, with plans to watch a couple of things on TV and then go to bed. But her mother had arrived home with friends, they'd put on some music and started dancing, and there was no way Jenna could have slept through that in a tiny apartment. They must have been drinking, too, because her mother had gotten sick and Jenna had had to clean it up.
So it really hadn't been her fault that she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, but she couldn't tell Mr. Gonzalez the real story. If the judge knew how her mother was behaving, that just might be another reason to send Jenna away.
It was funny, in a way. She thought the others in her so-called gifted class had crummy lives-lives completely unlike hers. Only every now and then, she had to admit that her life sucked, too.
But there was no way she'd ever let anyone else know that.
Amanda had nothing to do. She'd finished Tracey's homework and she'd even made Tracey's bed (which was something she rarely did with her own bed at home). She wondered if there were chores that Tracey was supposed to do, like set the table for dinner. She supposed she could ask Lizzie, the mother's helper. On the other hand, she didn't particularly feel like talking to the teenager, who was always scolding her for eating something that belonged to the septuplets.
Amanda picked up Tracey's diary from the floor. This time she opened it to the middle. From the date, she could see that it was two years after the last entry she'd read. Tracey would have been ten. There was only one line on the page.
'Dear Diary, Sometimes I hate them.'
Hate whom? The kids at school? So why didn't Tracey do anything about it? Frustrated, Amanda tossed the notebook back onto the floor.
Maybe there was something on TV. She went back downstairs to the little room where she'd spotted a television set. But the Devon Seven were up from their naps, and they were now gathered in that room with Lizzie, sitting on the rug and watching some dumb kiddie show.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, and one of the seven actually looked at her. 'Hi, Tracey.'
Amanda had a feeling it was the same one who had noticed her that morning, but she couldn't be sure. And what did it matter-they weren't
On the bookshelf, she saw something that looked like a photo album. She picked it up and sat down on the little sofa with it.
The first few pages contained very old photos, black and white, of people in old-fashioned clothes. She thought they might be Tracey's grandparents or great-grandparents. In any case, they weren't very interesting. She kept turning pages until she spotted someone she recognized-Mrs. Devon as a young teenager, maybe 13. At least, she assumed it was Mrs. Devon because she looked a little like Tracey. Or the way Tracey might look if she wasn't so awful.
The girl in the photo was thin, but Amanda would have described her as slender, not scrawny. And she was blond, but her hair was chin length, short, and bouncy, not hanging in flat, stringy clumps. She had pale blue eyes like Tracey's, but they were bright, not watery. There were freckles on her face, too, but they looked cute. And she had the same thin lips, but they were rosy pink and stretched into a smile. Amanda couldn't remember ever seeing Tracey's mile. Maybe at that eighth birthday party…
Young Mrs. Devon was wearing some cute clothes, too. Even though the photo had to be, like, 30 years old, the miniskirt she wore would have even looked okay today, though Amanda wasn't so sure about the white boots.
She turned the page. There were more photos of Mrs. Devon, becoming more and more recognizable as she grew older. There was a copy of the same wedding picture Amanda had seen on the wall in the living room. And a couple of pages later, the same couple stood in a similar pose, but this time Mrs. Devon was holding a baby.
The baby must have been Tracey, Amanda realized. She examined the picture closely. Well, Tracey had obviously been born normal-she looked like any other baby, cute and plump, and her parents seemed very happy to have her.
There were more pictures of Tracey on the following pages-Tracey in adorable little-girl ruffled and smocked dresses, Tracey wearing a swimsuit and sitting in a wading pool, Tracey on her father's shoulders. In almost every photo, Tracey was smiling or laughing, her eyes crinkling. On the next page, Amanda saw a first- day-of-school photo- there was one almost exactly like it in the Beeson family album, and it seemed to Amanda that little Tracey was carrying the same pink Hello Kitty backpack that little Amanda carried in her picture.
Then she came to a photo that made her gasp. It was Tracey's eighth birthday party, with all the guests at the table and Tracey in the center. Amanda saw herself, and she recognized her friends Sophie and Nina, who had been in the same second-grade class with Tracey, too. That wasn't such a shock-at that age, all the girls in a class were invited to one another's birthday parties. What really blew her mind was the way she and Sophie had their arms around Tracey, as if they were actually friends! It seemed completely natural, too, since Tracey looked just as cute and happy as the rest of them.
Mrs. Devon also was in the picture, standing behind Tracey, and it was clear from the size of her that she was hugely pregnant. That was the year the Devon Seven were born, Amanda remembered.
On the next page, there were no pictures of Tracey at all.
Practically every picture in the rest of the album portrayed the septuplets-together, individually, sometimes with the parents. Occasionally there was a glimpse of Tracey, but her image was always half hidden or blurred.
From the kitchen came the sound of pots and pans clattering, and Amanda guessed that Mrs. Devon must have come home. A moment later, she heard the woman's voice.
'Lizzie! Could you help me with dinner?'
Lizzie left the room, and Amanda wondered if she should help, too. But Mrs. Devon hadn't called for her… Tracey?
