The Black Sheep E-Book

Yvonne Collins

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 397

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Fed up with her parents and all their ridiculous rules (they keep a binder full of them), fifteen-year-old Kendra Bishop writes away to The Black Sheep, a reality TV show that offers the chance to swap families with another teen. But when the camera crew, led by brash TV producer Judy Greenberg, shows up at her Manhattan apartment, Kendra starts to have second thoughts. Too late. Kendra is whisked away to Monterey, California, to live with the Mulligan family in a household that couldn't be more different from her own-complete with hippie parents, their five kids and a pet ferret. Of course, when Kendra falls for Mitch, the Mulligans' seventeen-year-old son, it only complicates things further, especially since Mitch despises the reality TV show and everything it stands for. But given the chance, Kendra might just be able to juggle first love, her new stardom, and a pushy producer who will stop at nothing for higher ratings. In this hilarious and touching novel, Kendra learns to live under a new roof but finds true refuge in the unlikeliest of places-her own family.

Leseprobe

For our fathers, Jim Collins and Don Rideout

Contents

Title PageDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyAcknowledgmentsAdvertisementAbout the AuthorsBy Yvonne Collins & Sandy RideoutCopyright

Chapter One

The doorbell rings twelve times in four quick bursts. I race into the dim front hall and skid to a stop, confused by the bright light bleeding in around the door frame and pooling on the floor. An alien on the doorstep? Unlikely. UFO sightings are pretty rare in Manhattan. A home invasion? More common, but what kind of robber carries a spotlight?

I don’t need my parents, the Secretaries of Defense, to tell me that this is a security issue. Rule Number One in this house is Never Open the Door to Strangers. But what harm could it do to look through the peephole?

The light hits with such force that my eye practically explodes. I immediately break Rule Number Six: No Profanity.

There’s a muffled laugh on the other side of the door. A voice mutters, ‘Quiet.’

‘Who is it?’ I call.

Silence. Then the doorbell rings again. Three times. Three more times.

Now that I’ve broken rule six, breaking rule one doesn’t seem like such a big deal. But there’s also Rule Number Four to consider: Think Before You Act. Of all the house rules, I hate number four the most. Too much thought and not enough action leads to a very boring life. I should know.

I flip the locks and open the door, only to find the light is brighter still.

‘Kendra Bishop?’ a woman’s voice asks.

I nod, one hand still over my exploded eyeball. All I can see with the other is a huge smile, like Donkey’s in Shrek.

‘Bob, get a close-up,’ the smile says. Someone reaches out and pulls my hand away from my eye. ‘Congratulations, Kendra, you are the new Black Sheep!’

Squinting, I make out a horde of people on the stoop. Front and center is the owner of the smile, a short, pretty woman in a suit, with shiny dark hair and rimless glasses. A massive bald man stands beside her with a camera on his shoulder, on top of which is the light. Another man shoves a microphone at me.

‘The new what?’ I ask. There must be some mistake.

‘Black Sheep,’ she repeats. ‘The reality show. I’m Judy Greenberg. One of the producers.’ She speaks so fast her words run together.

‘You mean I’m on TV?’

‘You will be soon. Just give us a week to edit the footage.’

I glance down at my blue-and-white Tommy Hilfiger pajamas, which I put on right after school to save time later. My hair is in a stringy ponytail. ‘I should change.’

‘Don’t. We want to capture the real Kendra.’

She pushes past me into the hallway, followed by a small army hauling cables and equipment. They smile and congratulate me, and I thank each one. Rule Number Fourteen: Respect the Guests. ‘Excuse me … Judy, right? I don’t understand what’s going on.’

She raps her knuckles on the wall. ‘Real marble?’

‘I think so.’

She turns to the big bald guy. ‘Close-up of the marble, Bob. Where are your parents, KB?’

KB? Rule Number Eighteen: No Nicknames. Kendra combines my dad’s name, Kenneth and my mom’s, Deirdra. ‘They’re out for a run.’

Judy clicks down the hall in stiletto boots and I rush after her, my socks sliding every which way. ‘Close-up on the family portrait, Bob,’ she says from the living room doorway. ‘Set it up in here, people.’

‘Set what up?’ I ask, more alarmed by the second.

She points to the bust sitting on the grand piano. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Mozart.’ Duh.

‘Bob—’

‘—Zooming in on Mozart,’ Bob says, in a soft southern drawl.

Judy tosses her huge leather bag onto the oak coffee table and I snatch it up again. Rule Number Thirty-three: Watch the Finishes. ‘Listen, Judy,’ I say, ‘I really need to know what you’re doing here. Otherwise, I’ll have to call the police.’

‘Careful with the tone, kid,’ she says. ‘This business is all about likability. But call the police if you must and I’ll read them your letter.’

‘What letter?’

Her smile widens until it hooks over her ears. ‘The one responding to our ad in Teen Nation.’

Oh, that letter. ‘But that was months ago.’

‘One month, actually. Remember how the show works?’

‘No. And can you speak a little slower, please?’

Judy calls to Bob, who’s trudging toward Mozart in dirty boots, ‘You’d better catch this.’ He trains his lens on me again, and she continues: ‘Kendra Bishop, you are going to sunny California to trade places with another frustrated teenager!’

The sound guy jabs the microphone at me again, but I don’t know what to say.

‘Give Judy a reaction, honey,’ Judy says. ‘Tell us how this news makes you feel.’

‘I can’t go to California,’ I say. ‘I’m taking music theory class this summer. And economics. Plus I’ve got math camp.’

‘Sounds like we got here just in time!’

My brain buzzes like a trapped fly until I see an escape route: ‘My parents would never let me go.’

‘Just leave your parents to Judy,’ she says. ‘I’m going to bust you out of here.’ She jerks her chin at Mozart. ‘No pun intended. You were so right about this place, KB. It’s a mausoleum.’

‘I said museum.’ At least, I think I did. I barely remember the letter.

‘Close enough. How long till your folks are back?’

‘Maybe half an hour.’

‘Perfect. Just go about your normal business. Pretend we’re not even here.’

‘Sure, I’ll just kick back with a soda while you guys destroy my living room.’

‘Ha! You’re spunky, I like that. Spunky gets ratings.’ She signals Bob to get another shot of me and studies my image on a portable television monitor. ‘Hair’s a little dull, KB. Ever think about highlights?’

Of course I think about highlights. My hair used to be nearly white, but it gets darker every year and will soon match my parents’ nondescript beige. ‘I’m not allowed. I can’t get my ears pierced either.’

She snorts. ‘Start packing, kid, it’s time for a jailbreak. And listen, what’s a producer gotta do to get a drink around here?’

After putting on a pot of coffee for the crew, I grab the phone and duck into the breakfast nook.

‘Lucy, it’s me,’ I whisper when my best friend picks up. ‘I’m in so much trouble. There’s a camera crew in the living room.’

‘A camera crew?’ she asks. ‘What for?’

‘I wrote this letter and I’ve been chosen to be on this show and I can’t and I don’t know what to do. I’ve got to get them out of here before my parents get back.’ There is no air left in my lungs. My chest feels concave.

‘Calm down,’ she says. ‘You’re talking so fast I can barely understand you.’

‘You should hear Judy.’

‘Who’s Judy?’ Lucy is mystified.

‘The producer on the show. It’s called The Black Sheep.’

‘Hey, I read about that,’ she says. ‘I can’t believe you get to be on it.’

‘My parents are more likely to send me up on the next space shuttle.’

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone and then, ‘True. So why did you write the letter?’

‘It was just after Rosa left.’

‘Uh-oh.’ Lucy refers to this period as the time I ‘went dark’. Despite her constant calls and instant messages, I didn’t surface for seven days – the longest we’ve gone without contact ever. ‘Now what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. The crew’s wrecking the place. Someone threw his jacket over Mozart.’

Lucy laughs. ‘Breaking Rule Number …?’

‘Twenty-five: Respect the Art. My parents are going to kill me, Luce. I’m going to try to sneak out before—’

A bright light hits me in the face as Judy, Bob, and his camera join me in the breakfast nook.

Judy takes the phone out of my hand. ‘Lucy, am I right?’ she asks. ‘It’s Judy! KB told us all about you in her letter. We’d love to meet you. Come on over and we’ll grab a few shots of you helping her pack. Great! See you soon!’

A guy wearing a headset is standing guard at my bedroom door while I make a show of packing. I know full well that this suitcase isn’t going anywhere, but it’s easier to stuff things into it than to argue with Judy. She’s the one with the army.

‘How about a little privacy?’ I ask the guy.

When he turns his back, I grab my laptop computer, slip into the bathroom, and lock the door. My parents will be home in fifteen minutes, and although Lucy lives only half a block away, I know she’ll take time to dress for the cameras. I have to think of a way out of this myself.

Obviously I can’t go to California tomorrow. I’d miss the last two days of school. Besides, even if my parents agreed, I don’t want to be on some lame reality show – especially if it means moving in with people I’ve never met. What was I thinking?

Sitting down on the edge of the tub, I flip open the laptop and scroll through my files until I find the letter.

Dear Black Sheep Producers:

Please choose me to be on your show. If you do, you will be rescuing me from the Manhattan Banker Duplication Program. My parents – bankers, did you guess? – are the co-presidents. They’re not horrible or anything, but they are pretty weird. For starters:

• They look alike. They both have short, mousy hair and gray eyes. From behind, you can only tell them apart because Mom jacks up her hair with product.

• They run marathons. Over and over again. How many times do you have to prove a point?

• They have no friends. They say it’s because they value their privacy; I say it’s because they’re antisocial.

• Their idea of a great family vacation is to visit golf resorts. Without me.

• They never argue. In fact, they barely speak. They’re like the three-year-old twins next door who have their own form of language based on meaningful looks and monosyllables. A couple can be too close, if you ask me.

• They’re obsessive and controlling. Yes, all parents make rules but how many keep a binder and update it constantly? I call it The Binder of Limitations and Harassment, or The BLAH. There are rules about what I can wear (no ultra low-rise jeans, no short tops, no cleavage), what I can do to my body (no piercings, no body art, no dye jobs), and who I can date (as if I don’t have enough strikes against me, going to a girls’ school and being a virtual prisoner except for approved activities). It’s like an Amish settlement, only with more rules.

• They’re workaholics. That’s why Rosa, my nanny, moved in when I was born. Someone had to be around to enforce The BLAH.

• They’re worrywarts. Mom frets if my mind isn’t being fertilized constantly, and she’s always enrolling me in classes. She calls this ‘enrichment’, and its goal is to foster an international banking career. Flute lessons make the cut only because musical training apparently promotes excellence in math.

Dad frets if I’m not active. He’s been trying to convince me to run for years, but I’ve held out so far. ‘Marathons build character,’ he says. ‘You learn to set goals and build capacity until you can achieve them.’

Build capacity? My parents are such banker-nerds they have dollar signs where their pupils should be.

Still, even bankers need something to talk about at client dinners, so Mom packs her few free hours with culture. On the third Sunday of every month – I call it Torture Day – we have a mother-daughter bonding trip to the Met, followed by a quiz over tea and scones. With my parents, everything is ‘on the test’.

Each morning, including weekends, Mom prints out a schedule that breaks my day into half-hour slots. (I’ve enclosed one in case you don’t believe me.) The ‘Comments’ column is for Rosa, and the reason it’s blank is because my parents recently fired her. They didn’t use the word ‘fired’. Rather, they said they were ‘downsizing’ and would ‘outsource’ her duties to cleaning and catering services. They offered her ‘a package’. That this happened right after they learned Rosa was secretly giving me ‘downtime’ during educational slots was purely coincidental, I’m sure. ‘Fun’ is not in my parents’ vocabulary.

‘You’re fifteen,’ Mom said. ‘You don’t need a nanny anymore.’

But Rosa wasn’t just a nanny, she was the only one standing between me and complete banker domination.

‘We can direct her salary into enrichment,’ Mom said.

Any more enrichment and my head will explode.

‘We’ll come home a little earlier, and cut back on running,’ Mom said.

They didn’t. I ate my catered meals alone and went to bed alone. And less than a week after Rosa left, I found two entry forms for the Toronto Marathon on the hall table. My parents are so desperate to avoid me they’re crossing borders.

Obviously, they shouldn’t have had a kid. In fact, I think I was an ‘accident’. Rosa didn’t deny it when I asked her. She pursed her lips the same way she did every time she looked at my schedule and then gave me a big hug. The last time Mom hugged me was four years ago, before my first trip to math camp.

If my parents had been more careful about birth control, they could have directed their child-rearing budget into technology. They like computers, probably because they’re reliable and you can upgrade them regularly. I’m less dependable. Although I mostly get good grades, I have to work my butt off and sometimes my system crashes for no reason.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m starved or beaten or anything, and I know that from the outside it probably looks like I have it pretty good. But isn’t a kid supposed to have some say in what happens to her? Isn’t she allowed to ‘just say no’ to banking if she wants to? Aren’t cults illegal in this country?

And so it goes for another six pages. It’s ugly. In fact, it’s like a volcano erupted and spewed lava all over the keyboard. I remember how much better I felt after I wrote it. What I should have done – it’s perfectly clear now – was obey Rule Number Four. I could have so easily hit SAVE rather than PRINT. Instead, I acted before I thought about it, and now I’ll be in lockdown until college.

I broke the same rule again today, which is why Judy is standing outside my bathroom door spitting out an indecipherable question at high speed.

‘I’m not feeling well,’ I say. It’s a good answer to any question and also true.

‘Nerves,’ she says. ‘Do you have the runs?’

That I can decipher, as I’m sure Bob can, too. ‘Just an upset stomach.’

‘Come out and we’ll talk about your new family. That’ll make you feel better.’

I’m surprised at how quickly I’ve picked up her fast-talking. Enrichment must have given me an ear for languages. ‘I doubt it.’

‘You’re buried alive here, KB. But never fear, Judy’s going to dig you out.’

Or if that doesn’t work, maybe she can just stun me with her shovel.

‘Bob, zoom in on the knob turning,’ Judy barks. Then she snaps her fingers at the young guy with the wild red hair who threw his jacket over Mozart. ‘Chili, get a wide shot.’

The door opens and my parents stand blinking in the spotlight. They are built like greyhounds – long, lean, and muscular. Mom’s hair is slightly ruffled from the wind; Dad’s is as stiff as a hairpiece, although I’m pretty sure it’s real. They look at each other and for once I understand exactly what they’re thinking: what the hell is going on here?

Judy doesn’t keep them in suspense for long. She introduces herself with a Donkey smile and tells them about The Black Sheep. Then she announces, ‘Your daughter has been chosen from ten thousand entries to trade places with a teenager in California for a month.’

My parents’ mouths open in unison, say ‘No,’ and snap closed. They cross their arms over their chests, a gesture that might be impressive if they weren’t wearing matching tank tops.

I start backing down the hall toward my bedroom, but Bob turns to pin me in a circle of light. Chili stays focused on my parents, and a third crew member covers Judy.

She waits until her camera is rolling before opening a folder and producing a stack of pages covered in pink highlighter. ‘Let me read you KB’s letter,’ she says.

‘That’s Kendra,’ my mother interrupts.

‘Of course,’ Judy says. ‘I think when you hear what Kendra had to say, you’ll agree that some time away will do her good.’ She reads several paragraphs – the worst ones – aloud.

My mother gasps when Judy reaches the part about the Met. ‘Torture Day? I thought you loved that.’

Judy pats my mother’s arm. ‘Now, now. Every family has communication problems.’

At the end of the letter, all eyes turn to me expectantly. I stare at the floor and mutter, ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounds.’

‘Speak up, honey,’ Judy commands. ‘Are you saying you lied?’

‘I was mad when I wrote it, that’s all.’

‘More like heartbroken.’ She signals Bob to get a close-up of the letter. ‘There are tear stains on the page.’

That’s almost as bad as suggesting I have the runs. I am not one of those girls who cry for no reason. ‘It’s Sprite,’ I protest.

She wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘That’s your pride talking, kiddo. Are you telling Judy you don’t want a vacation in California?’

I keep expecting my parents to toss Judy and her army out of the house, but they seem to be paralyzed. Sweat is dripping down my father’s face, and my normally pale mother is flushed. ‘I’m telling you I didn’t really think it through.’

‘That letter came straight from the heart,’ Judy insists. ‘I cried like a baby when I read it, and so will the rest of America. That’s how I knew we’d found our girl. This fine nation loves an underdog, and you can’t beat a lonely child in search of love.’

‘I’m not a child,’ I say. ‘And I’m not lonely.’

‘You haven’t been hugged in four years,’ she says, promptly hugging me.

I wriggle out of her grasp. ‘I have, just not by them.’ I point at my parents, willing them to take charge, but they continue to stand there on stick legs, silent, bland, and beige.

Judy continues as if I haven’t spoken. ‘You need a break. And fortunately, there’s another unhappy teenager who needs a break, too.’

She tells us about Maya Mulligan, a fifteen-year-old from Monterey, who has written an equally long letter to complain about her family. Maya says her parents are hippies who are into saving the planet and leaving a ‘small footprint.’ Whatever that means. She wants to experience life in Manhattan with a ‘normal’ family.

‘Normal?’ I ask. ‘You’d better keep looking, Judy.’

‘Normal is all in the eye of the beholder,’ she says. ‘And as a contestant on The Black Sheep, you’ll have a chance to see that for yourself.’

My father finally finds his voice. ‘Our daughter is not spending a month with beatniks.’

‘Why not?’ I ask, although I don’t even want to go. ‘I’d be back before you even noticed I was gone.’

‘Kendra,’ my mother says, ‘enough.’

‘I’m just communicating,’ I say. ‘Unlike you two, I actually like to talk. I’m sorry if it embarrasses you.’

‘Atta girl,’ Judy says. ‘Let it out.’ I notice that her head is twitching repeatedly to the right, and I wonder if it’s a nervous tic. Then I realize she’s signaling Chili to zoom in on my parents’ reaction. ‘Your daughter is telling you that she’s miserable.’

My parents exchange a meaningful glance, and Dad asks, ‘Are you miserable, Kendra?’

I waver for a moment before pulling my punch. ‘Not all the time.’

Judy wraps an arm around each of my parents. ‘Ken. Deedee.’ Mom opens her mouth to protest but Judy picks up speed. ‘I know how tough it is to raise a teenager today, but it’s obvious that you’ve hit a roadblock here. Kendra deserves to experience a family that has time to spend with her. She needs to explore her own interests. Do you have any interests, Kendra?’

I think about it for a moment. ‘I like to play the flute – or at least I don’t hate it. And I, uh, like to shop.’ Then I shrug to let her know I’m out of ideas.

‘I rest my case. Your daughter’s growing up without a personality to call her own.’

‘Hey!’ I have a personality. Whose side is she on, anyway?

Silencing me, Judy continues. ‘Here’s your chance to do right by Kendra and give another kid a break in the process.’

My parents shake their heads as one.

‘Why not?’ I ask again. ‘This Maya might actually like living in a museum.’

‘What are you afraid of?’ Judy asks my parents. ‘That you’ll lose Kendra forever? The truth is, letting her go is probably the only way to keep her.’

My mother’s mouth twitches, and I think for a moment that she’s going to laugh. Dad drapes an arm around her and turns to Judy. ‘Please collect your gear and go. You’ll be responsible for any damages to the furniture.’

Judy backpedals quickly. ‘Think of The Black Sheep as a student exchange program. It’s a developmental opportunity for Kendra and for poor Maya, who longs for all you have to offer here.’ She points at the wall. ‘Maya has never seen a Monet.’

‘Matisse,’ I say.

‘It’s just a print,’ Mom says. Her voice sounds faint and faraway. She leans around Bob to get a good look at me. ‘Is this really what you want, Kendra?’

Now that she’s opening the door, I’m not sure I want to walk through it.

Judy saves me the trouble of deciding. ‘Of course it’s what she wants. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.’

Dad says, ‘I’ll need to know more about these Mulligans. Are they professors?’

‘Not exactly,’ Judy says, ‘but they’re upstanding citizens.’ She snaps her fingers at a man in a suit. ‘Stan, our attorney, will tell you all about them.’

Stan leads my parents to the stack of permission forms on the desk.

‘Wait a second,’ I say. ‘I haven’t said I’ll go.’

Judy hands me an envelope containing a plane ticket. ‘Finish packing, kiddo. The limo will be here early.’

‘But—’

‘I know you’re scared, but don’t worry. Judy will be holding your hand every step of the way.’ The doorbell rings. ‘Lucy, I presume?’

Chili trains his camera on Lucy, who smiles and waves as she steps into the house. As I suspected, she dressed up for the occasion in white jeans and a halter top.

The army packs up and disperses. Finally Judy hugs me again and heads for the door. ‘See you tomorrow, KB.’

I wait for my mother to correct Judy, but she doesn’t. Instead, she steps aside as Chili dashes back into the apartment to pluck his jacket from Mozart’s head.

Chapter Two

In the arrivals area of the San Francisco airport, a group of people waves a sign at me. Fluffing my hair nervously, I hurry toward them, only to discover that the sign reads, WELCOME, FERGUS. There’s no way I look like a Fergus, even from a distance.

It’s the latest in a series of disappointments today. First, my parents didn’t come to see me off because they had to pick up Maya Mulligan at another airport. Then, my hopes of being seated next to a hot guy fizzled when a middle-aged nun in street clothes sat down beside me. She didn’t admit she was a nun until halfway through the flight, and I spent the next half trying to remember whether I’d said anything offensive. And finally, no one, not even the nun, showed the slightest interest in why I was flying alone. I may not be thrilled about participating in The Black Sheep, but it’s the most exciting event of my life so far.

Deciding it’s better to look nonchalant when the Mulligans arrive, I turn to find a seat. A now-familiar light assaults me.

‘Welcome to California!’ Judy says. Today she’s West Coast casual, in jeans, a white T-shirt with a fuzzy black sheep on the front, and flip-flops.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, too tired to be polite. Lucy called me at 4:45 a.m. to make sure I was up. As if I could sleep when I was about to fly across the country to live with strangers. I’ve never been away from home for a month before and Judy has the option of extending my stay to six weeks.

‘Is that any way to greet your peeps?’ Judy says, signaling Bob to walk backward ahead of us as she leads me to a bench. ‘You’ll have to get used to the bright lights, kiddo: the eyes of the nation will soon be upon you.’

The eyes of many people in this lounge already are. They’re gathering in clumps and staring, wondering whether I’m ‘somebody’. I shake my head to let them know I’m not. ‘Where are the Mulligans?’ I ask Judy.

She shoves a bystander out of the way. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll be here. And listen, KB, we’ll have to discuss your wardrobe. Some colors and patterns don’t work on camera. Your red T-shirt is pulsing.’

I wonder if it’s my racing heart that she sees through my T-shirt. She presses my shoulder until I drop onto a bench and then shows me the portable monitor. On the screen, my T-shirt appears to be dancing.

Judy turns to her army and shouts, ‘Tess, we’ve got some shine here!’

A woman I didn’t notice yesterday comes at me with a powder puff. ‘Oh, no,’ she says. ‘She’s breaking out.’

Leaning in to inspect me, Judy says, ‘No worries. Viewers won’t get past her pulsing T-shirt anyway.’

The crew laughs, like they laugh at all of Judy’s jokes. I, however, refuse to suck up to her, especially since the jokes are at my expense. Rosa was always after me to stand up for myself, and there’s no time like the present to start trying. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, rising with dignity. ‘I’m going to the restroom.’

‘Not now,’ Tess says. ‘The Mulligans will be here any minute.’

‘You can’t tell me when I can use the restroom,’ I protest. But the crew closes in to block my exit, and I realize that for the next month, they intend to control my bladder and the rest of me, too. Panic begins to flutter in my chest. ‘Let me go.’

Judy snaps her fingers and the crowd parts.

So much for showing them who’s boss.

‘Kendra, what is it about you and restrooms?’ I peer under the cubicle wall and see Judy’s flip-flops outside my stall. There’s no spotlight, so I guess her sidekicks actually respect the gender barrier. ‘Any health problems I should know about?’

‘I want to go home,’ I say.

‘Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’ she asks. ‘Your letter said you were dying for something to happen in your life. Now it has.’

It’s true that I crave adventure, but I was thinking more along the lines of bumping into Prince William in Hyde Park while my parents ran the London Marathon.

Judy moves over to the sink and washes her hands. ‘Think about the stories you’ll be able to tell when you’re back at school,’ she says. ‘No one will have anything on you. Judy’s going to make you a star.’

‘I don’t want to be a star.’

‘Everyone wants to be a star.’

‘Not me,’ I say. ‘I just wanted more independence and to have some fun.’

‘Well, think of all the fun you can have with twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s how much each family will receive when the show ends.’

‘Really?’ That’s a lot of money. No wonder my parents agreed to participate.

‘Really,’ Judy says. ‘Although, Maya will ultimately decide how your family spends the money.’

Naturally. There’s always a catch.

‘And you’ll get to decide how the Mulligans spend theirs,’ she says.

Whoopie.

‘Plus, you get to keep the eight hundred dollars a week you earn, and spend it any way you like.’

Now she’s talking. Even if we only go four weeks, I’d earn over three grand, which would finance a lot of trips to Sephora.

‘See, it’s all good, KB,’ Judy continues. ‘The Mulligans are a blast. And your parents are going to see the show and realize how grown-up you are. When you’re back in New York, they’ll give you more freedom.’

‘You don’t know my parents.’

‘I know how all parents think,’ she says. ‘Once you’ve proven you can survive without them, they always loosen the reins.’

That does make sense. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Trust me,’ she says.

I open the stall door, and Judy is right in front of me, every tooth on display. She ushers me out of the washroom and dismisses the crew with a flick of her fingers. Setting her shoulder bag on a bench, she sits down and pats the place beside her.

‘Take a moment to regroup,’ she says, rifling through her bag.

‘I hear what you’re saying. I’ll use this time to prove to my parents that I’m mature enough to make my own decisions.’

She brushes my hair back over my shoulder. ‘They’ll be amazed at your transformation.’

Up close, her smile is terrifying, but it’s not her fault she has such big teeth. And it’s nice that she’s being supportive.

She continues to fiddle with something in her bag until there’s a flash of bluish white light.

‘Is that a camera?’ I ask, stunned.

‘Of course it’s a camera,’ she says, plucking a tiny camcorder out of her bag and switching it off. ‘You’re on a reality show. How do you think they get made?’

‘But this was supposed to be a private moment.’

She stands and pulls her shades down over her eyes. ‘Say goodbye to those, kid. You’re public property now.’

‘But …’

‘Enough whining, Kendra. America loves a sweetheart.’

I stare at her, realizing that I’m in deeper than I thought. ‘I can’t do this, Judy.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong girl.’

She pulls a stack of papers out of her bag and makes a show of examining them. ‘Nope, that’s your name on the contract. Judy’s definitely got the right girl.’

A dilapidated, powder-blue van covered in decals pulls up in front of the terminal. I only have time to read two of them – SAVE OUR SOUTHERN SEA OTTERS and OIL: THE SPILL THAT KILLS – before the sliding door on the side creaks open and people start pouring out.

‘Bob,’ Judy says, ‘close-up on the Mulligans. Chili, you cover Kendra.’

A woman wearing a beret over long, graying hair wraps her arms around me and nearly crushes my rib cage. ‘You must be Kendra,’ she says.

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Mulligan,’ I say, when she pulls away.

‘Call me Mona,’ she says. ‘No one calls me Mrs Mulligan – especially because my last name is Perlman. I never married Max, you know.’ She turns to smile at a balding, paunchy man who has a large octopus tattoo on his forearm. ‘I like to keep him on his toes.’

Max shakes my hand. ‘We don’t need a piece of paper to prove we’re meant for each other. Been together thirty-eight years.’

‘Thirty-eight?’ I ask. ‘You’re kidding.’ They look old, but not that old.

Mona laughs. ‘We were barely teenagers when we met at the Monterey Pop Festival in ’67. It was the Summer of Love that never ended.’

‘We’ve got six kids to prove it,’ Max adds, giving his wife’s bottom an affectionate slap.

‘Daddy, please,’ says a skinny girl of about ten who’s standing behind them holding a baby on one hip. Next to her, identical twin boys of about seven peer at me shyly.

Mona says, ‘Sorry we’re late, Kendra. Max was snaking out someone’s pipes. He’s the most popular guy in the neighborhood.’

‘Everyone loves a plumber,’ Max says, starting to herd everyone into the van.

I hang back, but Judy prods me with her pitchfork. My eyes are riveted by Mona’s outfit – a tie-dyed blouse and long skirt over Birkenstocks. I don’t think she’s wearing a bra, and after six kids she should be.

She points to the little pin on her chest. ‘I see you’ve noticed my otter. I’m obsessed with them.’

‘It’s so pathetic,’ the girl says.

‘Meadow, hush,’ Mona says, settling into the passenger seat.

With Judy propelling me forward, I climb into the rear seat and take the only spot available – on an exposed spring between Meadow and one of the twins. The baby is sitting on Meadow’s lap.

‘Shouldn’t he be in a car seat?’ I ask, fumbling for my seat belt. My search turns up a couple of dog biscuits, which the baby promptly grabs. Meadow doesn’t even try to stop him from shoving one into his mouth.

Mona calls from up front. ‘He’ll be fine, dear. Max has never had an accident.’

The rest of the crew piles into a second van bearing the Black Sheep logo, but Judy joins us, sitting in the middle seat beside the other twin. She winks at me before raising the camcorder to her eye. I scowl back at her.

‘Likability, KB,’ she says.

I don’t care if America likes me. I may have a contractual obligation to be here, but ratings are Judy’s problem, not mine. She’s got her work cut out for her, because I can already tell this show is totally predictable. They’re going to dump the Manhattan girl into a hillbilly shack and watch her squirm. Or maybe we’ll all live out of the van.

Meadow plops the baby onto my knee. ‘This is Egg,’ she says.

I balance the rubbery little thing on my lap for a few polite moments before trying to slide him back to Meadow.

‘You don’t like babies, Kendra?’ Judy asks, swinging her camcorder to catch the family’s horrified reaction.

‘Of course I like babies,’ I lie. ‘Mona, your grandson is very cute.’

Everyone laughs uproariously until Mona finally gasps, ‘Egg isn’t our grandson, dear, he’s our son.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, horrified at my gaffe.

‘Don’t be,’ Max says, not offended in the slightest. ‘We started late.’

‘After we got tired of trying to change the world,’ Mona adds.

‘Egg is an unusual name,’ I say, to change the subject.

‘It’s really Milo, but we call him “Last Egg” for fun,’ Mona explains. ‘I thought I was starting menopause but somehow Egg slipped in under the wire.’

Max gives Mona’s thigh a squeeze. ‘Remember where it happened, sweetie?’

The twins answer for her: ‘The Save the Cormorant rally in Santa Cruz.’

Meadow flushes and says, ‘Don’t talk about that on camera.’

‘Oh, honey, relax,’ Mona says. ‘The moment of conception is something to be celebrated. If you’re in a committed relationship, that is. Why, I remember exactly where we were when you—’

‘I know,’ Meadow interrupts, exasperated. ‘The anti-sonar protest near Mendocino.’

Mona turns in her seat to grin at me. ‘Happens every time we’re at a tent rally. Something about all those people coming together for a cause.’

‘I don’t get it,’ one of the twins says.

Judy trains her lens on me as I silently pray they’ll resist the urge to explain the facts of life to their son. I didn’t learn them from my own parents and I don’t want to hear them now. That’s what television is for.

After a pause, Max says, ‘We’ll talk about it at home, son.’

I sigh with relief, and Judy’s mouth forms a huge crescent under her camcorder. There must be more than the standard thirty-two teeth in there.

Meadow stares at me, unblinking, until I raise my eyebrows at her.

‘How come you’re so skinny?’ she asks.

‘I’m not skinny,’ I say. I am slim. And I might even be muscular if I ever lifted anything heavier than a cell phone.

‘You’re skinnier than me,’ she says. ‘And I’m only ten.’

I am not skinnier than a ten-year-old. And why isn’t someone telling her she’s rude? Rosa would have escorted me to my room by my ear if I’d spoken to a guest like that. Judy, of course, is loving every minute of it.

‘Can I try on your watch?’ Meadow asks.

‘Sure,’ I say. Anything to shut her up. I slip it over her wrist, and Egg immediately clamps his mouth on it. ‘You can keep it for now.’

By the time we pull into the Mulligans’ driveway, it’s almost dark, thanks to an unexpected delay on the side of the highway after the van died. Max, who seems to be more talented with drains than carburetors, took his sweet time to fix it.

Judy didn’t mind at all. We could have flown into the Monterey airport in the first place, but she was anxious to document our ‘honeymoon drive’. She’s spent so much time leaning in for close-ups of me that, if there’s any justice in the world, her neck will seize up tomorrow.

Happily, the Mulligan house looks normal enough. It’s not the beachfront cottage I’d initially hoped for, but it’s not the rundown shack I’d feared, either. Rather, it’s a tan stucco two-story on a quiet cul-de-sac. Toys are scattered across the front lawn, and a dog is barking inside.

Meadow and the twins, Matt and Mason, surge ahead of us into the house, and Max follows with Egg and my suitcase. Mona drags me into her front garden. ‘It’s my pride and joy,’ she says, kicking a soccer ball out of a flower bed. ‘If only you’d been here a little earlier in the season. My tulips are cups of light.’

Cups of light? I may throw up before I make it into the house. Seeing as Judy is recording this moment for America, however, I make appropriate gurgles of admiration. It turns out to be good training for keeping a straight face once we go inside, where all resemblance to normal ends. An upended rowboat forms the hall closet and there’s a mural of whales covering two walls of the living room.

‘Max is an artist as well as a plumber,’ Mona says, leading me into a room that must have been a dining room once, but is now a very messy office. ‘Welcome to Save Our Sea Otter Central Command.’

Our grand tour skips the room I most want to see: my bedroom. I finally ask about it, but Mona is too distracted by kitschy artifacts to answer. ‘This is the otter cushion Maya bought me with her babysitting money,’ she says.

She yanks me aside as a large dog barrels toward us in pursuit of a small silver creature.

‘A rat!’ I yell, leaping onto the closest chair.

Bob zooms in on my terrified expression. ‘Chili thought so too,’ he says. ‘He nearly fainted.’

‘It’s not a rat, dear, it’s Maya’s ferret,’ Mona says, helping me down.

The ferret arches and hisses, his tail sticking straight up like a bottle brush. The dog backs up until his wagging tail swipes a glass otter off the coffee table. It shatters on the floor.

‘Not another one,’ Mona sighs, pushing the shards away with her foot as the ferret scrambles onto a bookshelf. ‘He’s a troublemaker, but Maya adores Manhattan.’

It takes me a second to clue in. ‘That’s the ferret’s name?’

Mona nods. ‘Maya’s been dreaming of visiting New York for years.’

‘There are a lot of M-names around here,’ I say.

Delighted that I noticed, Mona says, ‘It’s our thing. You know – how every family has its thing?’

Mine doesn’t have a thing. Unless you count the rules.

Manhattan deliberately brushes against my shoulder from the shelf. With Meadow now standing beside me grinning, I try not to squeal. My mother claims to have allergies, so I’ve never had a regular pet, let alone an exotic one.

‘Wow, Manhattan usually isn’t that nice,’ Meadow says. ‘He has Maya’s personality.’

Mona clucks disapprovingly and leads us through the kitchen and out the patio doors. As I emerge, more than two dozen people yell, ‘Surprise!’ Stretched between two trees is a banner reading, WELCOME, KENDRA, OUR BLACK SHEEP!

Although I’m embarrassed at having so many eyes upon me, I can’t help but smile. I’ve never had a surprise party before.

And a party it is. The barbecue is smoking, the stereo is cranked, and there are two picnic tables covered in salads and a huge array of the snack foods I never get to eat at home. Soon I am feeling so much better about this whole adventure that I barely grumble when Tess jumps out from behind a shrub to powder my blemish. Bob and Chili are too busy clear-cutting the table to bother capturing the moment.

Judy comes toward me with a girl about my age. ‘This is Carrie Watson,’ she says. ‘Maya’s best friend. She lives next door.’

It occurs to me that someone may be introducing Lucy to Maya in New York right now. I don’t know whether to be happy, because Lucy can tell me all about her, or jealous. They’d better not hit it off.

Carrie offers me a soda and waits until Judy is out of earshot before saying, ‘Maya and I aren’t best friends anymore. She hasn’t wanted to hang out for a while.’

‘Why not?’ I ask. Carrie seems nice to me. She’s dark and pretty in a sporty way, and her denim capris and lululemon hoodie reassure me that Monterey isn’t some remote outpost beyond the reach of fashion.

Meadow pulls her head out of the Cheetos bowl long enough to answer. ‘Because Maya’s a bitch.’

Mona appears out of nowhere. ‘Now, Meadow. Maya’s been frustrated lately, that’s all. She’ll come back from New York her old self.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ Meadow says.

‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ Mona says, towing Meadow away. ‘This is what happens when I let them eat junk food. Normally we have a very healthy house.’

Another hope dashed. ‘Is Maya really that bad?’ I ask Carrie, piling Cheetos onto my plate while I have the chance.

Carrie nods. ‘But Mitch makes up for it. He’s sweet.’

‘Who’s Mitch?’

‘Maya’s older brother. He’s hot, too.’

‘Really.’ I toss my Cheetos into the trash. A hot older brother is so much better than junk food.

‘Yeah, but he’s pissed about the whole Black Sheep thing. He asked my brother if he could stay at our place while you’re here, but the Mulligans refused. He’s boycotting the barbecue, though.’

Well, that’s just great. I’ve driven a sweet, hot guy out of his own house before he’s even met me. ‘It won’t be so bad,’ I say. ‘The crew is really nice.’ The lie sticks in my throat with the Cheeto dust.

‘Mitch will come around,’ she says. ‘It’s got to be easier than living with Maya.’

I squeeze her arm to silence her because I notice that Judy and Bob have crept up to record our conversation. Carrie’s mouth forms a perfect O as she realizes what she’s just told America.

Turning to Judy, I ask, ‘You can edit Carrie’s comments, can’t you?’

She shakes her head. ‘The neighbors signed waivers.’

‘But Carrie didn’t realize, and she has to live here after we’re gone,’ I insist. ‘Can’t you give her one free pass?’

Judy rolls her eyes at Bob. ‘Free passes don’t equal good ratings, KB.’

I switch off the lamp on the bedside table, and it immediately flicks back on. Now I fully understand why Maya is A) a bitch, and B) sleeping in my bedroom (with ensuite bathroom) in Manhattan right now.

Meadow is staring at me from the other twin bed. ‘I’m not tired yet,’ she says.

‘Well, I am. It’s been a really long day.’

I click off the light again, pull the homemade quilt under my chin, and try to relax. I’m a little nervous in this house. Even this late at night, there are distant rustling sounds. And it smells of … people. Not unpleasant, necessarily, but lived-in.

There’s a soft thud as something lands on the bed. I scream, and Meadow turns the light on. ‘Relax, it’s just Manhattan.’

The little beast puts two paws on my stomach and stares at me with shiny brown eyes. ‘Can you get him off me?’

Meadow shakes her head. ‘He always sleeps with Maya. If we shut him out, he’ll just scratch on the door.’ She switches off the light again.

The ferret steps onto my chest and stands there for a few moments, confirming the location of my jugular. Eventually he turns a few times and settles down. Pretending to be asleep. Waiting.

Meadow’s voice comes out of the darkness. ‘Kendra?’

‘What?’

‘Can I borrow your jeans tomorrow?’

‘They wouldn’t fit you, Meadow.’

‘Sure they would. I’m as big as you. And I can roll up the legs.’

I grit my teeth. ‘I’ll think about it. Now go to sleep.’

She’s quiet for a few minutes and then, ‘Kendra?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What are your parents like?’

I consider for a moment. ‘Busy. They work a lot. They run marathons.’

‘But are they nice?’

That’s a good question. I don’t know the answer to it. ‘I guess so.’

‘Will they be nice to Maya?’

I reach over to turn the light on, careful not to disturb the ferret, who’s curled in a tight disk. ‘Are you worried about your sister?’

Meadow wrinkles her nose in disdain. ‘No.’

‘She’ll be fine. I’m sure she’s sound asleep right now, and I bet she likes my bedroom.’

‘She’d better not get any ideas about staying there.’

I smile at her. ‘I thought you said she’s a bitch.’

‘But that doesn’t mean I want her to go for good.’

‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back before you know it.’ I switch the light off.

‘Kendra?’

‘Now what?’

‘Have you had your period yet?’

‘I’m fifteen, what do you think?’

‘I heard that if you’re too skinny, you won’t get it.’

‘You’ll get it. And it’s no big thrill, believe me.’

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Not right now,’ I say. No need to tell her the truth, which is that with the Secretaries of Defense on duty, I hardly ever meet guys, let alone go out with them. So far, the closest I’ve come is with Jason, a guy I met in music history last year. Rosa let me go to Starbucks with him after class, but for reasons of job security, she sat at another table – close enough to hear me scream for help, but far enough away that I had the illusion of independence.

We did this for a few weeks and Jason never knew we had a chaperone. Finally, at the exact moment he officially asked me out, I realized that I didn’t even like him because all he ever talked about was himself. Rosa sensed the change instantly. She walked over to the door, pulled her cell phone out of her bag, and called mine. I picked up and she said, ‘Tell him you really like him as a friend, but you’re not interested in him that way. Then excuse yourself.’

Having my nanny coach me on how to dump a guy doesn’t rank among my proudest moments, but it worked.

Meadow flicks the light on and props herself on one elbow. ‘Have you ever kissed a boy?’

I flick the light off. ‘You’re not supposed to ask people questions like that.’

‘Maya has,’ she says into the darkness. ‘Lots of times.’

‘Well, that’s nice for Maya.’