As the phone rings, I say to Tiff, “Let me talk.”
A kid answers the phone, and I say in that same American (kinda) accent that I had before, “May I speak to Brittany please?”
“Hey ya, Brit!” the kid yells in my ear. “Phone’s for yew.”
The accent startles me almost as much as the loudness. And then it hits me: Brit’s coming to the phone with no trouble at all.
“That was easy,” I say softly to Tiffany.
“You didn’t get her mother,” Tiff says, also softly.
“Have you talked to her mother?” I ask.
“No,” Tiff says. “I didn’t even talk to her mother when she came to the family gatherings.”
“Me, either.” I remember Brit’s mother because she was so fair, she actually had to be magicked so that she wouldn’t die of sunburn or something. Her real-world sunscreen was never strong enough to do anything. Brit got her looks, and I guess, now that Brit’s no longer living the magic life, she’s had her first sunburn too.
“Hello?” Brittany’s voice sounds warm and familiar, and holy Hermes’ underwear, have I missed her. The tears are back and I have to swallow to stop from sobbing.
“Hello?” Brit repeats.
“Hey,” Tiff says. “Crystal needs to talk about something. Go somewhere private.”
“Yeah, okay,” Brit says, using a phrase I’ve never heard her use before. I can also tell from the sound of her voice that she’s blushing because she knows she’s doing something wrong.
The phone rustles as she moves out of wherever she was to somewhere new. I hate these phones because they don’t let me see my sisters. We could do Skype or something, but we never set that up, and Brit’s family doesn’t have the right internet connection for it. If they’d let her keep the iPhone, then we could’ve done it, even with the tiny screens.
“Crystal,” Brittany whispers. “What’s wrong?”
They know. That’s what sisters do. They
know
, without being told. Except that I will have to tell them the details, because while they know that I’m upset and this call is important, they don’t know why I’m upset or what exactly is so important.
I don’t know how to even begin. But I take a deep breath and give it a shot anyway.
“It’s not working,” I say.
“What’s not?” Brit asks as Tiff says, “With your family?”
“They’re not my family,” I say to Tiff. “They’re just people I’m related to. My mother and I talked tonight. She doesn’t want me here. She told me that I’m not really her daughter—”
“You’re kidding,” Brit says. “You look just like her.”
I smile. My literal sister. Tiff’s being quiet. I think she knows what I mean.
“She gave birth to me,” I say, “but only because Daddy made her carry me to term.”
Tiff sucks in air. Brit says, “Oh, jeez, Crystal. I’m sorry.”
And she means it. I wish she were here so I can hug her. Brit gives the best hugs.
“Mother never wanted me,” I say, because if I don’t get this out now, I never will. “She was forced into doing this, says she had no choice, and refuses to talk to Megan.”
“She won’t talk to Megan?” my sisters ask in unison. They sound so shocked that I decide not to tell them that I’m done with Megan too.
“She won’t talk to Megan, she won’t work with me, and she says we just have to hang on ’til the winter holidays when we can tell the Powers That Be that I should go home.” My voice is hitching. I don’t want it to hitch. I don’t want to make that noise at all.
“Oh, Crystal.” Brit says, and I notice that she’s handling the emotion. Dammit, Megan. I
notice
that, and I don’t like noticing it, because that makes it feel just a little dirty, and just a little wrong.
“I don’t want to hang on,” I say, the hitch getting worse. Actually, I sound totally mush-mouthed. More like
I don wanna hang on
than
I don’t want to hang on.
And then I realize I’m whining. I don’t whine, not even to my sisters.
But I have to tell them. I can’t keep this bottled up.
“I want to go home,” I say, “but I asked Megan and she says I can’t. And I can’t leave here. Mother and Owen are really famous, and they say if I embarrass them, then Mother will have me put away.”
“Put away?” Brit asks.
“Institutionalized,” I say. “Like
Girl, Interrupted.”
“Holy crap!” Brit says.
“They wouldn’t,” Tiff says.
“Mother would,” I say.
My sisters are silent. They’re never silent. I’ve shocked them. I’m not sure I’ve done that before.
“We gotta get you out of there,” Tiff says. “You can’t live like that.”
“People say I’ve got it good,” I say. “Unlimited money, great room, rich parents.”
“People don’t know anything.” Brit’s voice is shaking. She’s going to cry. “Oh, Crystal, I can’t bring you here. They had to curtain off a room so I’d have privacy, and they really can’t afford me. I have to get a job to pay my way.”
“You’re kidding,” Tiff says.
“No,” Brit says. “I’d bring you here if I could, but I can’t.”
At least she stayed focused on me. Tiff got distracted.
“Maybe if we all say we want to go home, they’ll send us,” I say.
That silence again. Someone’s breathing kinda loud, and I can’t tell which of my sisters it is. Somehow that bothers me, because I used to be able to identify everything about them instantly.
“Um,” Brit says into the silence, “I promised I’d stay. And Mom’s taking some big risks to have me here. I can’t just leave.”
“Yeah,” Tiff says. “I like it here. I don’t want to go back right now.”
I close my eyes. I didn’t expect them to say no to that. I take a shallow breath. I don’t want Tiff and Brit to know how much that upset me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Look,” Tiff says, “let me ask if you can come here. We can say it’s for a visit or something, and you just won’t go back to New York.”
And she sets the phone down before I can tell her not to bother. Although I’m not sure I would have said not to bother, because I’m kinda thrilled she is bothering.
Okay, I’m really thrilled. My heart starts pounding hard. Maybe that’s the solution—staying with Tiff until the winter holidays. Then I can go back.
“I can’t believe your mom said that,” Brit says while we wait. “She sounds mean.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But mean’s not the right word. Mean implies that she cares. She doesn’t care. I’m not even sure I’m a real person to her.”
“Gosh, Crystal. Harsh.”
I flush. “I know I’m being blunt, but she’s—”
“No,” Brit says. “I don’t mean
you’re
harsh. I mean she is. And you’re kinda defending her. I don’t think you should. I never liked her. She was always complaining about being at the family gatherings, and she treated you
awful
. I’ve been really worried about you, Crystal, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to help.”
But I can’t go there, because they don’t have the money to take me in. And Mother would probably cut off my credit card if I go.
The phone rustles as Tiff comes back.
“My mom wants to talk to yours,” she says.
“No,” I say.
“She won’t even consider you coming here without a conversation between them,” Tiff says. “She says your mom has to understand the stakes here.”
“Oh, she does,” I say. “That’s why she wants to wait until the winter holidays. She doesn’t want to be accused of not trying.”
“But she’s
not
trying,” Brit says.
“I know,” I say softly.
“She needs to talk to your mom before she makes any decisions,” Tiff says.
I think about it for a minute, remembering Mother’s reaction to that phone call from Megan. I’m shaking my head before I even realize I’m doing it.
“Thanks, Tiff,” I say, “but please don’t have her call. She’ll just piss off Mother even worse. And they’ll probably take my phone privileges away. I’d rather not do that.”
There’s silence on the other end, then the phone rustles again.
“Crystal?” Ms. VanDerHoven says. I can just picture her. She’s really pretty (all of our moms are really pretty; that’s what attracted Daddy. He says he’s never been involved with an ugly woman, and he might just be right). She’s got chocolate skin and dark hair and has this power-woman vibe going that Mother would just love to have.
“It’s okay, Ms. VanDerHoven,” I say. “Mother and I just don’t get along, but we’ll work it out.”
“I’d like to talk with her,” Ms. VanDerHoven says.
“Megan’s talked to her,” I say.
“Maybe if another mother talks to her, she might calm down. Because this is hard, but it’s rewarding, and I can tell her that.”
“Thanks, but no,” I say. “Please don’t. It’ll just make her mad. She barely mothers my brothers and she raised them. She’s just not you.”
Maybe if Serena VanDerHoven were my mother, things would be different. Maybe I’d want to stay like Tiff does.
“I’ll call her at any point,” Ms. VanDerHoven says. “You just say the word.”
“Thanks.” I’m hoping she’ll get off the phone, but I don’t want to tell her to get off the phone. I mean, she’s being nice.
She sighs. She hears the brush-off, even though I don’t say it. “I know this is upsetting,” she says. “I hope you’re talking to Megan.”
“She knows,” I say.
“Good. Well, as far as I’m concerned, if you have another emergency, you call here. Okay?”
I nod. I would have been happy with that half an hour ago, but that moment of hope, that moment when I thought I might be able to leave here, trampled all over it.
“I will,” I say, kinda surprised at how much calmer I sound.
“I’ll give you back to Tiffany,” her mother says, and the phone bangs as she sets it down. I can hear her walking away.
“Wow,” Brit says. “I wonder what Megan would think about giving you permission to call.”
I bite my lower lip. “Don’t tell her, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, but I don’t lie to her. It’s hard to lie to her.”
“I know,” I say, “but…please?”
“All right,” Brit says as the phone bangs again. Tiff’s back. I wonder where she went while her mother was talking to me. Why wasn’t Tiff listening in?
“I think I might be able to talk her into letting you come,” Tiff says. “But she’s kinda adamant about speaking to your mother first.”
“I got that,” I say. “It’s okay. I’ll make it through.”
“Your mom says that Crystal can call if she needs to,” Brit says to Tiff.
“I heard that,” Tiff says. “That would be so great if we could talk more than once a week.”
“I’m not sure how my mother would feel about that,” Brit says. “I’ll ask, though.”
“It wasn’t hard to get you on the phone,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s probably the case.” Then she giggles nervously. “As long as we don’t tell Megan.”
I sigh. Megan. All we care about is Megan.
“You going to be okay, Crystal?” Tiff asks.
I have to answer yes, because if I say anything else, they’ll know I’m lying.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Today was just hard. You guys made it easier though.”
We talk a little more—or mostly, they talk, comparing schools some and constantly asking me how I’m doing. Finally, Brit says her mom’s coming, and she hangs up really fast.
Then Tiff says, “If it gets really bad, just come here, Crystal. We’ll work it out.”
But they wouldn’t. They’d tell Megan, and then we’d go to the Powers That Be, and I’d screw everyone up.
Still, I thank her. Because she tried. And I appreciate the try. I do.
And after I hang up, I cradle the phone to my chest.
Megan’s got her wish. My sisters are moving on. They’re becoming different people from the girls I knew. They have their own lives, and Tiff, at least, likes hers. Or doesn’t want to leave. Or something.
I guess I wouldn’t either with a nice mom like hers. And Brit’s just being a doormat, like always, worrying about what other people will think, worrying that she put out these people she really doesn’t know very well.
But that’s always been Brit, although she seems a lot more intense about it now.
Maybe that’s how she justifies staying until the winter holidays. She didn’t diss on her family, though. She just talked about how hard it was to learn the so-called real world things, her and Tiff, when I stopped talking about Mother.
Tiff’s in a good place. Brit’s going to stay where she is, and she doesn’t want me there, even though she’s trying not to say that.
Me, I’m stuck here. I guess I could draw little hash marks on the wall, like prisoners in old movies do when they’re in a cell. Wonder what Mother would make of that when the staff tells her.
I can’t even smile about that thought though.
I’m going to do my best to avoid Mother, no matter what. And I’m done talking to the boys. I’ll answer questions if I have to. I’ll go to school so no one yells at me.