I'm Not Who You Think I Am Read online

  The lead continued to flip-flop. With only one minute left, and the score tied, Mr. Wren called a time-out.

  Ginger used the break to climb down and stand on the sidelines. As soon as she was on the floor, Ginger used the zoom lens for a close-up of the coach talking to the team. She was close enough to hear his words.

  “Concentrate,” Mr. Wren said. “Don’t let their chatter distract you. You’re a great team, and you’re going to win this game. All you have to do is—”

  Right in the middle of the coach’s pep talk, while he was telling them what strategy to use, Mrs. Vaughn suddenly pushed her way into the huddle.

  “When are you going to put Polly back in the game?” she demanded.

  Ginger’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Please sit down, Mrs. Vaughn,” Mr. Wren said. “I’ll be glad to talk with you after the game.”

  “We need the starting lineup back in there,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “Roosevelt would be winning easily right now if you didn’t insist on giving every player equal time.”

  One of the referees hurried over and said, “I must ask you to return to your seat, ma’am.”

  Polly got off the bench. “Mom, please,” she said. “Don’t interfere. Today is my turn to play the first and third quarters.”

  Mrs. Vaughn ignored Polly. She glared at the referee and stayed where she was. “If the coach can’t figure out that the best players are the ones who can win the game, then someone needs to tell him,” she said.

  “Right on!” yelled a man who was seated behind the Roosevelt players. “You tell him!” A woman sitting beside the man looked embarrassed. She shook her head at the man, and put her finger to her lips.

  Ginger recognized the woman. It was Susan Fields’s mother.

  “You see?” Mrs. Vaughn said. “The other parents agree with me.”

  “Sit down immediately,” the referee said. “Or you will be ejected from this gymnasium.”

  Mrs. Vaughn huffed back to her seat.

  Polly plopped down on the bench and put her head in her hands.

  The five players who were in the huddle returned their attention to Mr. Wren just as the buzzer sounded. Ginger climbed back to her place beside Karie.

  “Can you believe she did that?” Karie said. “I would crawl under the seats if my mother ever behaved that way.”

  The game resumed.

  Mr. Wren made no substitutions.

  Ginger continued her play-by-play. “Roosevelt takes the ball in bounds,” Ginger said. “Larson passes to Sumner, who turns, jumps, and shoots. Air ball! It never touched the net. Rebound by number eleven for Elk Grove.”

  As she talked into the microphone, Ginger heard someone booing.

  “Elk Grove shoots, misses, gets the rebound, shoots again. Two points. Forty-nine to forty-seven Elk Grove, with twenty-three seconds left.”

  “We want the starters. WE WANT THE STARTERS!”

  Ginger turned the camera on the crowd and saw angry faces shouting, “WE WANT THE STARTERS!” Mrs. Vaughn was on her feet, leading the chant. Mr. Fields stood beside her, shaking his fist.

  The chant became louder as more parents and some students on the Roosevelt side yelled for their best players to return to the game.

  Ginger zoomed the camera in on Coach Wren. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were on the game, not the spectators.

  “Go, Roosevelt!” Karie shouted. “Go, Roosevelt!”

  “Fifteen seconds left,” Ginger said. “It’s Roosevelt’s ball. Miller dribbles it down the court, fakes to Sumner, and—it’s stolen by number eleven for Elk Grove.”

  More boos erupted.

  “Number eleven races down by herself, and sinks the two-pointer. Fifty-one to forty-seven. Elk Grove has the lead with nine seconds remaining on the clock.”

  “GO, ROOSEVELT!” screamed Karie.

  “Beth Sumner takes the ball in for Roosevelt,” Ginger said. A whistle blew. “Sumner is called for traveling. Elk Grove gets the ball back with six seconds to go.”

  The boos got louder. Beth Sumner’s mother said angrily, “Those players need encouragement, not boos.”

  Karie’s shoulders slumped. “That’s it,” she said. “All Elk Grove has to do is hang on to the ball for six seconds.”

  Elk Grove not only hung on, they scored another basket.

  The final buzzer sounded. “Elk Grove upsets favored Roosevelt,” Ginger said into the microphone. “Final score: Elk Grove fifty-three, Roosevelt forty-seven.”

  “I have to get home,” Karie said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Ginger waved good-bye and kept the camera running as the Roosevelt team congratulated the girls from Elk Grove and Mr. Wren shook hands with Elk Grove’s coach.

  When Mr. Wren returned to the sidelines, Mrs. Vaughn, Mr. Fields, and two other parents waited for him. One after another, they spoke:

  “How can we expect the students to have school pride when the coach doesn’t care if his team wins or loses?”

  “This isn’t kindergarten, you know. Some of these kids will be in high school next year. College scouts will be watching them to see if they’re scholarship material.”

  “It isn’t fair to the good players to throw away a game that they could have won.”

  After listening to the barrage of words for a few minutes, Mr. Wren held up his hand, and the complaints turned to mumbles.

  “I know you’re disappointed that we lost,” he said. “So am I. But my coaching philosophy is that middle school students need playing time, including competitive time during actual games, in order to develop their skills. We are not trying for a world championship here. These kids are twelve, thirteen, and fourteen years old, and the purpose of our sports program is to help them develop physical coordination and self-esteem, and to learn to enjoy playing a team sport. Winning is not and never has been the primary goal. An attitude of good sportsmanship is a primary goal, and I would hope that you parents will set a good example for your children.”

  “You need to enter the real world, Coach,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “Children are not helped by being coddled. Pretending that every player is equal in ability doesn’t make it so.”

  “I’ve never said they have equal ability,” Mr. Wren said. “I’ve said they are equally important, and they will have equal playing time.” He picked up his clipboard. “The girls are waiting in the locker room for my postgame comments,” he said. “Excuse me.” He turned and walked away.

  “Don’t let them bother you, Coach,” came a voice from partway up the bleachers. “You did a great job!”

  Ginger looked to see who was talking, and saw the coach’s wife and their four-year-old daughter, Dana. She went to say hello.

  “When are you going to baby-sit me again?” Dana asked. “I want to play kickball, like we did last time.”

  “Ginger will baby-sit when Mommy and Daddy can afford to go somewhere,” Mrs. Wren said. “Which won’t be soon.” Her cheeks were flushed; Ginger could tell she was angry.

  “I wish the referee had ejected Mrs. Vaughn,” Ginger said.

  “Those parents make me furious,” Mrs. Wren said. “Bill is a dedicated coach. He truly cares about his players and wants the best for them.”

  “The kids all like him,” Ginger said. “Way more girls went out for basketball this year than in previous years.”

  “He told the parents and the players his coaching position at the start of the season. They have known since day one that every player will have equal playing time; they all agreed to that when they joined the team.”

  “Not all the parents are upset,” Ginger said.

  “No. Just the vocal ones.” Mrs. Wren sighed and smiled at Ginger. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t take out my frustration on you.”

  “I know a secret,” said Dana.

  “We don’t tell secrets,” Mrs. Wren said. “Remember? Secrets are just for our family.”

  “I know that,” Dana said, looking indignant. She lowered her voice
and whispered to Ginger, “I’m going to have a baby brother or baby sister.”

  “Dana!” said Mrs. Wren. “I just told you, that’s only for our family to know.”

  Dana looked surprised. “Ginger’s our family,” she said. “She baby-sits me.”

  Ginger laughed. So did Mrs. Wren.

  “Congratulations,” Ginger said. “I promise I won’t tell anyone until you’ve announced it.”

  Ginger talked to Mrs. Wren until the gym was empty. Mrs. Wren and Dana went to wait outside the locker room for Mr. Wren.

  Ginger walked down the hall to her locker, got her backpack, and started for the door. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. She wondered if the activity bus was still there. If it had already left, she would need to call home and ask for a ride. She lived less than a mile from school, but she was not allowed to walk home alone.

  She pushed the door open and stopped.

  The bus had already left.

  A white car waited in the bus zone.

  Chapter

  Five

  GINGER STEPPED BACK INSIDE, pulling the door closed. Was it the same car that had parked in front of the Lawtons’ house? Had the driver seen her?

  She inhaled deeply, trying to stay calm. There are lots of white cars, she told herself. It’s probably some parent, waiting to give his kid a ride home.

  She eased the door open an inch and peered out, relieved that no one was coming toward the door. She tried to see who was in the car. A shadowy figure sat behind the wheel, but in the dark interior Ginger could not tell if the driver was a man or a woman.

  She noticed a ribbon fluttering from the car’s antenna. Had the car at the Lawtons’ had a ribbon? If so, Ginger had not noticed it. It probably isn’t the same car at all, she thought. I’m getting all worked into a sweat over nothing.

  She went to the pay phone, which hung on the wall just inside the school door, dropped in her coins, and dialed. The line was busy.

  She tried again. Still busy.

  She cracked open the door and looked out.

  The car stayed where it was.

  The woman from the restaurant would not park outside the school and wait for me at this time of day, Ginger told herself. She would not know what time I usually leave school. She doesn’t know I always stay and tape the basketball practices or the games. Besides, if she wants to find me, she knows where I live. She doesn’t need to hang around here.

  On her third try, the phone rang. Ten minutes later, Laura arrived, and Ginger ran out to the curb.

  “Are you okay?” Laura asked as she drove away. “You sounded kind of funny when you called, as if you were upset about something.”

  Ginger hesitated. Should she tell Laura her suspicions? What would she say—There’s a white car parked in front of the school so I think someone’s watching me? She would sound like Tipper.

  “We lost our game,” Ginger said. “And some of the parents got mad at Mr. Wren for not letting the best players stay in the whole time. Queen Victoria actually walked out on the gym floor during a time-out and argued with the coach because he had Polly on the bench.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The headlights on the white car went on; the car pulled away from the curb.

  “I think parents should be banned from attending their offspring’s sporting events,” Laura said. “I remember when I was on the high school volleyball team, there was one mother who spoiled every game. If anyone made the least little mistake, she yelled at us. And she was always arguing with the referees.”

  As they talked, Ginger looked back again. The white car turned left at the corner.

  “I was glad you called,” Laura said. “You can help me talk some sense into Mom and Dad.”

  “About what?”

  “Dad leaves the day after tomorrow for his player piano convention in Atlanta.”

  “Is that this week? He’s talked about it for so long, I had forgotten when it is.”

  “Well, it starts Wednesday evening. And about an hour ago, Mom got a panicked call from a customer who used to live here and who now lives in Chicago. The customer’s daughter has decided to get married on Saturday.”

  “This Saturday? As in five days from now?”

  “That’s right. The mother’s practically hysterical, and says she can’t possibly get ready for the wedding without Mom’s help. She’s offered to pay Mom’s airfare, hotel, and a five-hundred-dollar bonus over and above Mom’s regular charge, if Mom will fly to Chicago and help out.”

  “Is Mom going to do it?”

  “She wants to, but she’s worried about leaving us alone.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “She is actually considering hiring Mrs. Thomas to come and stay with us.”

  “A baby-sitter? You’re a freshman in college, for pete’s sake. And I do baby-sitting myself.”

  “I think she’s worried about Tipper.”

  “We can handle Tipper,” Ginger said.

  “That’s what I told her.”

  Ginger was still sputtering when they got home. “If you hire Mrs. Thomas to stay here while you’re gone,” she told her mother, “I am going to Karie’s for the week. And if Karie’s mom won’t have me, I’ll run away and sleep on a park bench.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Mrs. Shaw said.

  “Mrs. Thomas calls me sweetie,” Tipper said. “She tries to read baby books to me.”

  “A sitter would be totally demoralizing,” Ginger said. “What would my friends think?”

  “They would think we are sensible parents who did not want to leave a six-year-old at home for five days without mature adult supervision.”

  “I’m a mature adult,” Laura said.

  “If you have a sitter stay here,” Ginger said, “it will ruin my reputation forever.”

  “Maybe I can stay with Marcus,” Tipper suggested.

  “I don’t trust you to behave yourself for five days with Marcus,” Mrs. Shaw said. “The two of you will drive his mother crazy.”

  “I’ll be good. I promise! Please, Mom? Call Marcus’s mother and see if I can go there. Then when his parents go somewhere, Marcus can stay here.”

  “That’s a good solution,” Mr. Shaw said. “If Tipper stays with Marcus, the girls can manage on their own.”

  The comment surprised Ginger. When it came to family matters, Dad usually let Mom make the decisions, and he went along with whatever she thought.

  “Well . . .” Mrs. Shaw said. “It would be a challenge to go to Chicago and put together a wedding on such short notice.”

  Tipper picked up the telephone, dialed Marcus’s number, and handed the phone to Mrs. Shaw. Then he crossed all his fingers, crossed his legs, and crossed his eyes.

  Marcus’s mother said she would be delighted to have Tipper come. “It’s no harder to watch two of them than to watch one,” she said.

  Tipper shouted, “We can work on our burping lessons!” He ran into his room and began throwing the toys he wanted to take with him into a brown paper grocery bag.

  “Call your customer and tell her you’re coming,” Laura said.

  Quick, Ginger thought, before you change your mind about Mrs. Thomas.

  The rest of the evening was spent in a flurry of preparations. Mrs. Shaw made a plane reservation for Wednesday morning and changed her appointments for the rest of the week. Ginger did her homework and helped Tipper condense what he was taking to Marcus’s house to a total of three grocery bags.

  “Someone called for you after school,” Tipper said.

  “Who?”

  “She didn’t say her name. It was a grown-up, and she was rude. She asked what time you would be home, and I told her you usually stay to watch basketball practice. She hung up without saying thank you or good-bye.”

  Tipper tried to stuff his radio-controlled car into the bag. It tore the paper, all the toys spilled out, and he and Ginger had to start over with a new bag.

  While they worked, questions bounced in Gi
nger’s mind like tennis balls at a tournament. Was the white car at school the same car that had been parked at the Lawtons’? Was the driver the woman from the restaurant?

  Is she following me? Ginger wondered. Watching me? Did she call here to find out what time I get home from school—and then, when she learned I stay for basketball practice, did she wait for me outside the school?

  Or is my imagination working double-time?

  She said nothing about her suspicions to her parents. If they knew she was worried, they’d hire Mrs. Thomas for sure. Or, more likely, one of them would stay home.

  Before she went to bed, Ginger went out to her dad’s workshop. “You listen to a lot of mystery books on tape,” she said. “I’m wondering, if a character thinks someone is following him, what does the character usually do?”

  “They change their appearance,” Mr. Shaw said. “They shave their beards or dye their hair a different color or stuff a pillow inside their clothes. Why? Are you writing a mystery?”

  “I’m thinking about one,” Ginger said.

  “Good!” Mr. Shaw said. “You can become a famous writer and support your dear father in his old age.”

  Ginger lay in bed and thought about how she could change her appearance. She knew that because of a teachers’ conference school would get out early the next day. She decided to spend the afternoon giving herself a new look.

  Chapter

  Six

  GINGER SCOWLED AT HERSELF in the bathroom mirror. Her hair didn’t look at all the way she had hoped it would. Maybe I should have gone to Fast Clips, she thought, instead of cutting it myself.

  It had seemed like a good idea to change her hairstyle so that if the woman sat outside school, looking for Ginger, she would be less likely to recognize her. But Ginger had not intended to change the style so drastically.

  She put the scissors back in the drawer and walked from the bathroom to the kitchen. She watched Laura take a cookie sheet filled with tiny butter cookies out of the oven.

  “Hi,” Ginger said.

  Laura did not look up. “Can you be my helper tonight?” she asked as she used a spatula to lift the cookies onto a wire cooling rack. “Queen Victoria is having a reception for a pianist who’s giving a concert in Seattle tomorrow, and I’m desperate for someone to help pass the cheese balls.”