Somebody's Girl (Orca Young Readers) Read online

  When Martha walked into the house after school that day, Mom was lying on the couch. Martha felt a small jolt in her middle. Mom rarely even sat on the couch, unless they had company. Martha had never seen her lie there until two weeks ago. Today was the third time.

  “Hi, honey,” Mom said, when Martha was standing over her. “How was your day?”

  “Fine,” Martha said, watching to see if her mother would get up to fetch her a snack.

  Mom showed no signs of moving. Both her hands rested gently on her belly. Martha saw those hands shift slightly, cupping what was inside her, that new baby. Her belly was starting to get bigger, and she was always touching it. When she did, her eyes would stop looking out, and Martha knew that she had gone inside where the baby was. They were hanging out together, mother and baby.

  Had her birth mother ever done that? Martha wondered. Stupid question. Linda hadn’t even taken her home for one day before she handed her over to Mom and Dad. She hadn’t wanted her for one second. Mom and Dad had told her many times that Linda had given Martha to them out of love. That she didn’t have a good home for her, that she wasn’t well. Martha knew better. If Linda had really, really loved her, she would never have given her away.

  “I’ll get my own snack,” Martha said, keeping her voice smooth. “You rest.”

  “All right,” Mom said. Martha was halfway to the kitchen when her mother added, “Sweetheart, do you think you could fetch me a glass of milk? I’m supposed to drink so much of it, you know, and I keep forgetting.”

  Martha stopped for the tiniest second. Something cold and dreadful ran through her body. Her mother had never asked to be waited on before. She turned her head. “Okay, Mom,” she said.

  In the kitchen doorway she stopped again, almost stepping on a heap of cloth bags. One last bag lay collapsed on the counter surrounded by jars and cans. Martha had never seen the kitchen like this unless Mom was standing there, putting the groceries away. She must have put the eggs and meat in the fridge and gone straightaway to lie down.

  Martha opened the cupboard to get a glass, but the shelf was empty. She stared for a moment, thinking. The dishwasher. Her mom hadn’t even unloaded the dishwasher. Clean glass retrieved, she poured a glass of milk and took it into the living room. As she set it on the coffee table, her mother held out her hand.

  “Honey, just put it right here,” Mom said. “That way I don’t have to sit up.”

  Martha did what she asked and headed for the stairs. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

  In her room, with the door closed behind her, she took one long look at the bookshelf between the windows. The books gleamed in familiar colorful rows. Last year, she had read to herself every night before supper and before bed. She had learned to read real chapter books by then, and she had loved how black marks on a page could carry her away to a whole other place. Reading had seemed like a miracle.

  The books still looked pretty, but they were solid objects now, as if the covers were glued down, the pages stuck together. Nowadays, no matter what Martha did, she seemed to be stuck inside her own real life. She turned away from the shelf and collapsed onto her bed.

  Curled up there, with a pillow in her arms, she thought back to grade three. She had come right home from school then, if she didn’t have dance class. And she had almost always had friends in tow.

  Sam and Hailey and Preeti.

  Martha gave her head a shake. She did not want to think about those girls. But the memories pushed their way in anyway.

  Last year, Mom always had something special waiting: a banana loaf or squares or cookies from the Farmers’ Market or the Italian Bakery. She would come out of her office to greet the girls and settle them at the kitchen table with tall glasses of juice or milk. Martha’s friends all liked Martha’s mom. They chattered on about her clothes, her hair, her makeup. They loved it when she commented on Sam’s top or Hailey’s shoes or Preeti’s haircut.

  And Martha had loved every minute of it—loved it, that is, until she brought the girls through the kitchen door back in the middle of June. Martha had walked in and stopped short, the others crowding her into the room. Mom was right there at the kitchen table that day, but not in her usual work clothes. She had on a ratty old nightgown without a robe. Martha hadn’t even known she owned such a thing. And her hair looked like she had just crawled out of bed.

  When the door opened, Mom had looked up from the table and smiled—no—beamed. Something was strange and different and wrong. If Martha could have, she would have backed right out of the house again, pushing Preeti and Sam and Hailey behind her, but they were already in. They were staring.

  Shame flooded through Martha down to her toes. What would they think of her mother, her perfect mother, now? “You have to go,” Martha said fiercely to the three girls. “You have to go right now.”

  They were standing in a tight bunch, staring at Martha, not at her mother. “Go?” Preeti said blankly. “But—”

  “Just go,” Martha said, hating the way her voice rose, almost to a screech, knowing somewhere inside her that her behavior made no sense. And she pushed them out the door and closed it on them.

  By the time she turned around, her mom was standing in the middle of the kitchen. That’s when Martha saw her bare feet, and the big coffee stain on the white flannel of her nightgown.

  “Honey,” her mom said, her voice warm with concern—and something else.

  How dare her mother talk to her like that when she had embarrassed her in front of her friends, when she was dressed like a crazy person, bare feet even? Martha gave her one look and burst into tears.

  “Honey,” Mom said again, “come here.”

  Martha took a step away instead. That was when Dad came through the door. He looked from daughter to mother and back again. “Sweetheart,” he said to Martha, “why is there a huddle of girls on the front sidewalk?”

  “I…,” Martha said. Couldn’t he see for himself that everything was wrong?

  “I embarrassed her,” Mom said. “But I’m so glad that you’re both here.” She paused, and Martha’s dad stepped to her side. Then, “Martha, Peter,” she said, “I’m going to have a baby.”

  Martha watched as her parents turned into one big bubble of happiness. She took another step back. And waited. They hugged and they smiled and they murmured. She waited some more.

  At last Dad took his gaze from his wife’s face and looked at Martha. “Come here, you,” he said. “You’re going to have a baby brother.” He looked at Mom again. “Or sister,” he added, laughing as he spoke.

  Martha let herself be pulled right in between the two of them. She swayed along in the joy dance. But it did not feel joyful to her. Not joyful at all.

  She had only been five years old when Linda, her birth mom, had said to Mom right in front of her, “Weren’t you lucky I came along? You waited till awfully late to start trying to adopt. Maybe you should have given up on pregnancy a bit sooner.”

  Mom had frowned and hushed her, so Martha had known that what Linda was saying was important. And that was the last time they saw Linda for years. Martha had memorized Linda’s words and puzzled over them ever since. She had found out what pregnancy was. And she had figured out that Mom and Dad had adopted her because Mom couldn’t get pregnant.

  And now Mom was pregnant. She and Dad were going to have a baby of their very own. Mom was going to be this baby’s birth mom and real mom both at the same time.

  Martha wriggled her way out of the happy huddle. “I have homework,” she said as she grabbed her backpack and headed for the stairs.

  “Maybe you should call the girls and explain,” Mom called after her. “They’re not going to understand why you treated them so badly. And they’ll be happy to hear the news.”

  Martha paused on the stairs and lowered her chin. She wasn’t phoning anybody. She did not like what was going on in her kitchen. And she did not like the change in her mother either. Her mother always met her and her friends after school i
n nice clothes. She smiled and chatted. She didn’t parade around in a dirty nightgown with wild hair at four o’clock in the afternoon. And she didn’t have babies either. The afternoon’s events carved out a hot, dark, scary place inside Martha’s chest.

  Martha had never invited Preeti or Sam or Hailey to her house again, not in all the months since.

  CHAPTER 3

  Center of Discovery

  Martha was glad they were taking a bus on the field trip. Mom always volunteered to drive when they took cars. She would have hated having her mom there with her belly sticking out.

  With a bus, only a few parent volunteers were needed, and Martha’s mom did not need to be one of them. Chance’s foster dad, Doug, was coming. That was plenty for Martha to deal with.

  She was also glad that no one said anything about sitting with their sturgeon partners. She did not want to be stuck with that boy all day. Maybe this was the chance she had been waiting for. The day before the field trip, she cornered Preeti on the schoolground.

  “Want to sit with me? On the bus?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

  Preeti appeared to think for a moment. Martha clenched her fists at her sides, out of Preeti’s sight.

  “Okay,” Preeti said. “I guess so.”

  Martha unclenched her fists. She grinned, but not pathetically, she hoped. “That’s great,” she said.

  Then the bell sent them pelting back to class. Martha ran with joy in her heart.

  The bus left first thing the next morning. They would be back at school in time for lunch, and Mr. Jewett was bringing snacks for the whole class.

  Martha was putting her books away in her desk when she saw them—Preeti and Sam and Hailey— whispering together at the back of the room. Preeti looked toward her, and Martha pasted on a smile, but Preeti had turned back to the others before Martha’s lips were fully in place. More whispers. A laugh. A look from Sam. Then Hailey. Martha recognized the signs. Those girls, who had loved to come to her house every day just a few months ago, were gossiping about her now.

  Martha stood still for a moment, leaning on her desk. She had let things go wrong, wrong, wrong. More than once since the day of the dirty nightgown, Mom had suggested that Martha invite her friends over. In July, Dad had suggested a Saturday trip to the waterslides. At each bright idea, Martha had shaken her head while her insides had shriveled up with shame.

  They’re getting a real baby, she had thought, over and over again. And every sidelong glance or small smile between her parents had confirmed it. At last they had what they wanted. And what, Martha wondered, did that mean for her? If she had to watch Preeti or Hailey or Sam even think that question, she would die. She would fall to the earth that very moment, dead.

  And Hailey was sure to do more than think. She would speak the words right into the air. And they could never be taken back.

  Martha jumped when the teacher rapped on his desk. “All right, everyone,” he said, bringing the excitement under control for the moment. “It’s time to get your coats and line up at the door.”

  Martha had been looking forward to snubbing Chance. She had imagined him approaching her to be his partner on the bus. She would link her arm through Preeti’s. “I’m sorry, Chance,” she would say (sweetly, ever so sweetly). “Preeti and I are going to sit together.”

  Now she was hoping that she wasn’t about to get snubbed herself. She barely saw Chance barrel into line with Ken.

  Please, Preeti, she thought. Please. You promised.

  She got up, collected her coat from its hook and wandered toward the line. Preeti was still chatting with Sam and Hailey. At least there were three of them. If they made an even number, Martha would never have stood a chance of getting Preeti to sit with her.

  “Come on, girls,” Mr. Jewett said. “The bus is leaving.”

  Martha watched Preeti tear herself away from the other two. Without speaking, she joined Martha in line. Sam and Hailey bustled up right behind them.

  “Preeti,” Sam said, her voice loud enough to be heard by the whole class, “want to come over to my place after school? Hailey’s coming.”

  “Sure,” Preeti said. “I’d love to.”

  The line started moving then, and the conversation stopped, but it had been enough. If Martha could have crumbled into dust right then and there, she would have.

  Face firmly pointed forward, shoulders back, Martha marched out of the school, up the steps and onto the bus. She heard the teasing giggles of the girls behind her, but she tried to shut out the sound. Preeti slid into a window seat and twisted herself to talk to Sam and Hailey, who had taken the row behind them. Martha perched at the edge of the seat beside Preeti. The conversation between the three girls shot right through her. Like dozens of tiny arrows, she thought. She had been crazy, asking to sit with Preeti. She craned her neck to look to the back of the bus, but there was not a spare seat to be had.

  Mr. Jewett repeated his instructions, the driver started the engine and the journey began.

  The bus had not even left the school parking lot when Preeti spoke. “Hey, Martha,” she said, “how come you were so mean to us that day? And why don’t you invite us over anymore? We didn’t do anything to you.”

  Horror welled like vomit right up into Martha’s throat. She swallowed hard, and for a moment she considered running. Empty seats or no, she could just dart to the back and curl up in a corner.

  How could Preeti ask her to spell it all out? And right there on a bus, with everyone listening in?

  Martha took a breath and spoke. “I…I…It’s not the same at home anymore,” she said, knowing that her explanation wasn’t enough.

  Hailey’s voice rang out for everyone to hear. “What, because your mom’s pregnant?”

  Now it wasn’t horror in her throat. It was shame. “No,” she blurted, and shrank back in her seat as she realized her voice had traveled the full length of the bus.

  Pregnant. How she hated that word.

  “Girls. Is something wrong here?”

  Martha swallowed hard and leaned out into the aisle. Chance’s foster father faced her from several rows back. She shook her head hard at him and looked away just as the bus turned from the parking lot onto the road.

  Sam and Hailey had gone silent, and Preeti was glaring at her. “When I agreed to be your bus partner, I didn’t realize you’d be getting us into trouble with parents,” she hissed.

  “I…I didn’t mean…” But Martha was speaking to Preeti’s back.

  This couldn’t be happening. Why did Doug have to interfere? Martha didn’t know him very well. Angie usually dropped by to visit Martha’s mom on her own or with baby Louise in tow. When Martha had seen Doug before, she had always kind of liked him.

  Not anymore.

  Once they had reached their destination and filed inside, Chance did not give Martha a moment’s peace.

  As soon as Mr. Jewett had handed out the assignment and Preeti had gone off with her project partner, Chance asked right out, “What was that about? On the bus?”

  Martha looked away. “Nothing,” she said sharply.

  “It wasn’t nothing. What’s with you and those girls?”

  “Nothing’s with us,” Martha said. “They’re my friends.”

  “Maybe they used to be,” Chance said, “but not anymore.”

  Martha was looking at him now, and he had taken a big breath, as if he had all sorts of ideas that he wanted to share with her. “Look,” she said, “I have to work with you. But I don’t have to listen to you. So will you just stop talking?”

  Chance stood perfectly still and looked at her. She waited for him to kick her in the shin or something. She could tell by his tight jaw and the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes that he wanted to. “Fine,” he said at last. “Tell me the first question.”

  He got interested in the center pretty soon, especially in Fin, the man who swam down the whole Fraser River, rapids and all—not once, but twice. Martha resisted getting interested herself. I
nstead, she just trailed after him, collecting the research. Whenever they found themselves near the other girls, she pretended that she didn’t care. When it was time for the break, she grabbed her juice and a couple of cookies and slipped away toward the big glass doors.

  Chance had gone straight for Ken, and they were sitting with that busybody, Doug, so he wasn’t going to bother her. Martha tore open her packet of cookies and found herself gazing outside at the wooden promenade. Beyond that was the river. She glanced over her shoulder. Not one person from her group was watching her. She took a bite of cookie and leaned into the door, pushing it open.

  It was cold outside, and she wasn’t wearing her coat, so she almost turned right around and went back in. It seemed a shame not to step up to the railing, though, and look down at the river. She gripped the cold metal with her free hand, breathing the oily fishy smell and gazing at the water. Shimmery red and blue patches explained the oily part of the smell. To her right, a pier stretched out into the river with a couple of big boats tied up to it. Down a ways, she saw a real paddle wheeler. Beyond the pier, a tugboat strained to tow a log boom upstream.

  A scratchy sound pulled her attention back to the pier. She looked to her left and jumped. A crow was sidling along the railing toward her, its beady black eye intent on her remaining cookie.

  Martha had never been that close to a crow—or any bird, for that matter. She stared right into its black eye, and the crow stared back, moving its scaly feet every now and again, as if to remind her of the food she held. At last Martha released the railing, tore her eyes off the creature and broke her cookie into pieces. Turning, she dropped one bit, a quarter maybe, onto the wood near her feet. The crow spread its wings and, somewhat awkwardly, fell upon the scrap of food.

  Martha watched, delighted, for the seconds it took for the bit of cookie to disappear into the crow. Then she looked up and took a step back.