They were all gathered in the living room, and Amanda hovered in the corner to see what was going on. An attractive woman was standing in front of a camera and speaking.
"The impact of multiple births on a family is enormous, financially and emotionally. Mrs. Devon, what did the arrival of septuplets do to your life?"
Tracey's mother uttered a tinkling little laugh. "Well, as you can imagine, our lifestyle certainly changed. George and I used to go out to dinner frequently and to the theater. We can't do that as often now."
"We're going out tonight," Mr. Devon added, "for the first time since the girls were born."
"Do you go out less now because of the expense?" the reporter asked.
Mrs. Devon looked insulted. "No, we're quite fortunate in that sense. But it's very difficult to find a babysitter when there are seven children in the house."
Eight children, Amanda thought. There are eight children in the house. Maybe Tracey wasn't an adorable little kid and maybe she didn't require a babysitter, but she had to count for something.
Mr. Devon interjected a comment. "Of course, we don't mind giving up our social life. With seven daughters, it's a party in this house all the time!"
Eight daughters! What is the matter with these people? Don't they care about Tracey at all? Have they forgotten her? Amanda was really beginning to get irritated with them.
"Do you ever think about having another child?"
"Heavens no," Mrs. Devon said. "Seven is plenty!"
Now Amanda was fuming, and she couldn't keep quiet. "Eight! You have eight kids!"
There was a shriek from a cameraman, and another man yelled, "Cut! What happened?"
The cameraman's eyes were huge and he was pointing in Amanda's direction. "That-that girl! She just popped up out of nowhere!"
So she was visible again. That was a relief. It wasn't a relief to the cameraman, though. His face was white and his hand was shaking as he pointed. "I'm telling you. Look at the tape-she wasn't there a second ago."
"Don't be ridiculous," the other man said. "You just didn't see her come in." He peered at Amanda.
"Who are you, anyway?"
"I'm Tracey Devon. I'm the Devon Seven's older sister."
The director seemed taken aback. "Really?" To the reporter, he said, "I didn't know there was an older sibling. Did you?"
The reporter turned to the Devon parents. "I don't think you've ever mentioned another child." Then, turning back to Amanda, she said "What did you say your name is, dear?"
"Tracey." Amanda glared at Tracey's parents. "Remember me?"
Mr. Devon seemed somewhat befuddled. "Of course, don't be silly…"
Mrs. Devon broke in. "We thought you'd be interested only in the septuplets. Tracey is our firstborn; she's twelve."
"Thirteen!" Amanda corrected her. That was when it hit her-why Tracey's special gift was the ability to disappear. No one ever saw her, so she just faded away. If no one paid any attention to her, why bother being visible?
"Would you like to be interviewed, Tracey?" the reporter asked. "I'd like to know how having seven identical siblings has affected your life."
Idon't have a life, Amanda thought. I mean, Tracey doesn't have a life. And there wasn't anything she wanted to say about the Devon Seven-she didn't even know them.
"No, I don't want to be interviewed," Amanda said. If she'd been at her own home, her mother or father would have corrected her: "No, thank your She glanced at the parents. As usual, they weren't paying attention. They both just seemed completely puzzled.
The Devon Seven were staring at her, too. They were probably amazed to hear her speaking, or to hear other people speaking to her. Amanda resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at the little darlings and give them a dirty look. No, it was the parents who deserved the dirty look. Somebody had to take the blame for Tracey's miserable life! Without another word, Amanda left the room and ran upstairs.
Throwing herself on Tracey's bed, she contemplated her situation-Tracey's situation. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. Amanda pounded the pillow in frustration. She even began to wonder if maybe Tracey did have a worse life than Jenna. At least Jenna's mother seemed to love her.
But what really bugged Amanda was the fact that Tracey didn't do anything about it. She just let them ignore her and went along with it by disappearing.
Then Amanda sat up. Maybe it was Tracey's own fault that her life was crummy. Well, if Amanda was going to have to live as Tracey for a while longer, there was no way she'd follow in Tracey's footsteps.
A little voice inside her asked, And what if you have to live as Tracey forever? She forcibly pushed that horrible notion out of her mind. For as long as she did have to be this sad girl, she wasn't going to suffer like Tracey did. It was time for Tracey to take some responsibility for herself.
Amanda remained on the bed, thinking about how to go about doing that. After a while she heard the film people leave, and she came out of her room. She still wasn't sure what her first move would be, but she had to do something.
The seven little girls were now bouncing around and making a lot of noise. Mr. Devon was trying to hush them as Mrs. Devon went to answer the ringing telephone in the kitchen. From the bottom of the stairs, Amanda watched as Mr. Devon made futile efforts to get the kids under control.
"Kandie, stop jumping-you're giving me a headache."
"I'm not Kandie-I'm Mandie!" the child declared.
Mrs. Devon emerged from the kitchen with a stricken look on her face. "That was Lizzie. She can't babysit."
"What?" Mr. Devon yelled. "But we're meeting my boss and his wife. We can't cancel now!"
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Mrs. Devon shrieked back.
Amanda saw her opportunity. "I'll babysit."
Mrs. Devon continued with her tirade. "I can't find a babysitter at the last minute!"
"Yes, you can!" Amanda said more loudly. "Didn't you hear me? I said I'll babysit."
She must have spoken even louder than she thought, because she actually got both the parents' attention. But neither of them seemed to have understood.
"What did you say?" Tracey's father asked.
Amanda was getting impatient. "I said, I'll babysit for the girls."
Tracey's mother stared at her. "You?"
"Yes, me. I'm thirteen years old, remember? I can watch them. I'm not saying I'll entertain them, but I can make sure they don't play with matches or sharp knives. I can keep them alive till you get back."
Mr. Devon looked at Mrs. Devon. "Why not? We're not going that far. I'll leave my cell-phone number; she can call if there are any problems."
Mrs. Devon still looked uncertain. "Well… I suppose that would be all right."
"Absolutely," Mr. Devon assured her. "Thank you for offering, Tracey."
"Oh, I'm not doing this as a favor," Amanda corrected him. "I expect to be paid. How much do you pay Lizzie for babysitting?"
Mr. Devon was startled. "I don't know." He turned to his wife. "What do we pay the babysitter?"
"Five dollars an hour," Mrs. Devon said faintly.
"That will be just fine," Amanda said. "Five dollars an hour. If I'm not up when you get home, please leave the money on the kitchen table."
Still looking a little dazed, Mrs. Devon nodded.
"Good," Amanda said. "I'll be in my room. Let me know when you're ready to leave and I'll get to work." She couldn't see them as she turned to go back up the stairs, but she could conjure up the pleasant vision of two stunned parents, and it made her smile.