And where was Tracey? Amanda finally located another picture, which seemed to be a framed version of the previous year's family Christmas card. There they were, the seven little smiling Devon girls standing in a row in front of their parents. Looking more closely, Amanda was able to make out Tracey, half hidden behind the Christmas tree. Funny-it was a good shot of all the others, but Tracey looked kind of fuzzy.
It was clear to Amanda that Tracey wasn't the star of this family or even a featured player. There was absolutely nothing else about her in the room- nothing like the kind of stuff Amanda could see in her own home and the homes of her friends. There were no awards or citations or blue ribbons, no medals, no statuettes of gymnasts or figure skaters.
Despite her previous total lack of interest in Tracey Devon, Amanda found that she was becoming curious about the girl. She went upstairs to the room she'd woken up in that morning. Surely there she'd be able to find some clues about Tracey's life.
She remembered noting in the morning that there was nothing on the walls, and that was strange. Most girls she knew had posters-rock stars, horses, the stars of a popular TV series, stuff like that. Tracey's walls were bare. Amanda looked on shelves, in drawers, even under the bed, but after 20 minutes of searching, she was completely mystified. She'd found nothing that gave her the tiniest clue as to what Tracey Devon was all about. There were no books, no CDs, no magazines.
But ultimately, her search paid off. At the back of Tracey's cupboard, under the laundry basket, Amanda discovered a pink notebook. Scrawled on the cover, in childish handwriting, were the words Tracey Devon, My Diary. Private, Keep Out!
Amanda ignored the warning. Settling down on Tracey's bed, she opened the book to the first page.
"Dear Diary, I'm eight years old today! I had a party with all my friends. We had chocolate cake with pink roses on it. I got lots of presents. But Mommy and Daddy say I have to wait a whole month for my biggest present. They are going to give me real live babies! I hope they are all girls. Boys are icky."
Amanda turned to the next page.
"Dear Diary, I got 100 on my spelling test! Mommy took me out for ice cream. Daddy says I'm the smartest girl in the world."
And on the next page:
"Dear Diary, I went to swimming class today. We are learning how to dive. It's fun."
Tracey definitely sounded like an ordinary person in her diary, Amanda thought. This was all so normal-it was boring. She wasn't going to learn anything interesting here. She closed the notebook and tossed it onto the floor.
Of course, it didn't really matter. Amanda was completely confident that she'd be out of this dismal prison cell in the morning, so it wasn't as if she really needed to know the girl well. She paused in front of the mirror and forced herself to take another look at Tracey.
This mirror can't be very clean, she thought. The reflected image seemed blurry to her. Which was just as well, she supposed, taking into consideration how awful Tracey looked.
Suddenly an idea hit her, and she almost smiled for the first time that day. She'd thought of a way to occupy her time and actually do a good deed while she was here. (Not that good deeds were a habit with her, but she figured she might be rewarded for it by positive forces and get out of Tracey's body even sooner.)
There was something very significant that she could do for this poor girl-she could make Tracey look better! Now, this day, while she had control of Tracey's body, she could get the girl a decent haircut, some cool clothes, lip-gloss, and maybe some bronzer to brighten up her drab complexion. She'd be helping herself, too-if Tracey wasn't so pathetic, Amanda wouldn't have to worry about feeling sorry for her and finding herself in this situation again.
She already knew that Tracey wasn't carrying any money, and she hadn't found any in her search of the room, but from the look of the house Amanda could see that the family wasn't poor. She headed off to find Tracey's mother.
She found her in a room that she hadn't seen earlier-a cozy den with a TV. Mrs. Devon was sitting on the sofa, talking on the phone as she leafed through what looked like a clothing catalog.
"Lila, these things are so cute!" she squealed. "My girls are going to look adorable this winter. I'm going to order the little pink matching hats and mittens
If this had been her own home, Amanda would have just interrupted, but here she waited for a pause in the conversation, tapping her foot impatiently, so she could break in. She had to decide how she was going to address the woman anyway. She had no idea what Tracey called her. Mom? Mommy? Mother?
"Go ahead and answer the door, Lila-I'll hold on," Mrs. Devon said, and Amanda took a chance.
"Mom?"
There was no response as the woman turned the page of the catalog.
"Mommy?" Amanda said. "Mother?"
The woman lifted her head and looked at Amanda blankly. "Did you say something?"
"I was just wondering-could we go shopping?"
"What? Go where?"
"Shopping. Like, we could go to the mall."
Mrs. Devon responded as if Amanda had suggested a trip to the moon. "The mall?"
"Yeah. Not the big one on the highway-the other one, across from Meadowbrook…" Amanda's voice trailed off as Mrs. Devon's expression went from puzzlement to disbelief to something very close to anger.
"Are you insane? Have you lost your mind? Don't be ridiculous! I don't have time to go shopping. I have seven children upstairs!"
It was on the tip of Amanda's tongue to say, "You have eight children," but Mrs. Devon's friend had returned to the phone.
"Yes, Lila, I'm here. I just have to run to the drugstore to pick up the girls' vitamins. Of course we could have coffee. I've got the mother's helper here and the girls are napping. Okay, see you in ten minutes."
Amanda was stunned. As Mrs. Devon hung up the phone, she glared at the woman. "You've got time to meet your friend, but you can't take me shopping?"
But Mrs. Devon walked right past her like she wasn't even there.
Chapter Six
JENNA DIDN'T PARTICULARLY LIKE any I day of the week, but she really hated I Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, after her last class, she had to visit the school counselor.
This was a requirement that the judge had imposed when Jenna had been released after a month in reform school. If she skipped the meetings, the counselor would report her to the judge and the judge could send her back to that place, where many of the kids were even tougher than she was.
She rapped on Mr. Gonzalez's door and waited for his cheerful, booming voice to call, "Come in!" As usual, he was sitting on his desk instead of behind it.
"Hiya, Jenna!" he said with a smile.
It was very difficult for her not to smile back. She actually kind of sort of liked Mr. Gonzalez, but she couldn't let him know that. So she just muttered something that sounded like an unenthusiastic greeting and took her usual seat.
"How are you doing?" Mr. Gonzalez asked.
"Okay," Jenna mumbled.
"Just okay? Come on, give me something more interesting than that. Fabulous, excited, miserable, angry-anything's better than just okay."
"I'm a little tired," she admitted.
"Why is that? Are you having trouble sleeping?"