Replica - Mystery Mother Part 1

Marilyn Kaye.

Mystery Mother.

Replica.

1.

Sitting at her bedroom desk at precisely 5:30 P.M. on Monday, Amy Candler looked at the upper left-hand corner of her personal computer screen. In less than a second, the box she'd been antic.i.p.ating appeared there.

INSTANT MESSAGE FOR ACANDLER!.

ERICM: HI.

Amy typed in her response, which appeared immediately in the box.

ACANDLER: HI. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?.

ERICM: NOTHING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?.

ACANDLER: NOTHING. HOW WAS BASKETBALL PRACTICE?.

ERICM: OKAY. DID YOU GET A LOT OF HOMEWORK?.

ACANDLER: TONS. FIFTY PAGES TO READ FOR LANGUAGE ARTS, ABOUT A ZILLION MATH PROBLEMS, AND EIGHT REFLEXIVE VERBS TO MEMORIZE FOR FRENCH.

ERICM: THAT WILL TAKE YOU, WHAT, ABOUT FIVE MINUTES, RIGHT?.

Amy considered her response. He was exaggerating, of course. The homework would take her at least ten minutes. But she didn't like to flaunt her superior skills in front of her boyfriend. She decided to ignore his comment and moved on.

ACANDLER: DID YOU GET A LOT OF HOMEWORK?.

ERICM: NOT TOO MUCH. BUT I'VE GOT THAT PAPER FOR AMERICAN HISTORY DUE FRIDAY. WANT TO WRITE IT FOR ME? :).

She knew he was kidding - the smiley face made out of a colon and a closing parenthesis made that clear. Amy was trying to come up with a funny reply when her concentration was interrupted.

"Amy!"

She turned to see her mother standing in her doorway, frowning.

"Are you online with Eric again?" Nancy Candler asked.

There was no point in denying it. Amy didn't bother confirming it either. Her mother had a clear, un.o.bstructed view of the computer screen.

Nancy followed her question up with another one that didn't require an answer. "What did I tell you yesterday?"

Amy turned back to the screen and quickly typed.

ACANDLER: SORRY, GOTTA GO, PI, TTYL.

Then she signed off the server.

Ttyl was standard Internet shorthand for "talk to you later." Pi was their own special code. It stood for "parent interference." Eric would understand why she had to cut him off so quickly.

Nancy pushed a lock of hair away from her tired eyes. "Amy, why is it necessary for you to have an online discussion with Eric every day? He lives next door!"

Amy just shrugged. She couldn't provide an answer that Nancy would understand. How could she possibly explain that practically all Parkside Middle School students spent their evenings online with friends they'd just spent the whole day with at school?

Personally, she thought her mother was coming down on her a little too hard. "At least I'm not talking on the phone," she said.

"Amy, it's the same thing! You're still tying up the phone line." Now Nancy's voice was getting testy. "Honestly, Amy, for someone who has an extraordinary intelligence, you can be pretty - " She caught herself in time, but Amy provided several choices for the missing word.

"Dumb? Dense? Stupid?"

Nancy sighed. "I'm sorry, honey. I've got a lot on my mind, and I'm expecting an important call."

This seemed like a perfect opening for a request Amy had been wanting to make. "You know, the Morgans got Tasha and Eric a separate phone line," she began, then stopped. It was clear from her mother's expression that Nancy knew where this was leading and was not impressed with the suggestion.

"You do not need a separate phone line," Nancy declared. "You just need to spend less time monopolizing the line we have." At that moment the phone rang. Nancy s.n.a.t.c.hed up the extension on Amy's night table.

"h.e.l.lo?" Her lips tightened. "Just a minute, Tasha." She held the phone out toward Amy. "Could you tell her you'll call her back?"

Amy took the phone. "Hi, Tasha, are you home?"

"No, I'm still at the mall with my mother. Remember those shoes we saw last weekend?"

"The platforms with the strap?"

"Yeah. Mom says I can have them, but I can't decide between the black ones and the red ones. Which do you think I should get?"

"Well, black would go with everything," Amy said, thinking fast. "But the red ones would be so amazing with your long jeans skirt."

"Amy! Please get off the phone now!"

"Uh-oh, I heard that," Tasha said.

"Listen, I can't talk," Amy said in a rush. "Mom needs the phone." She hung up the receiver, but now she was annoyed. It was one thing to be told to keep her conversations brief. It was another to be ordered off the phone and publicly embarra.s.sed, even if the public consisted solely of her best friend.

She didn't have the opportunity to point this out to her mother, though, since the phone immediately rang again. Amy picked it up. "h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, Amy, this is Dr. Phyllis Grain at the university. Is your mother around?"

"Yes, Dr. Grain, she's right here."

"I'll take it in my room," Nancy said, hurrying out. Amy waited to hear the click that told her Nancy had picked up her own extension; then she hung up. What she'd felt like doing was slamming the phone down.

Her mood didn't improve as she started her homework. As a result it took her almost fifteen minutes to complete the a.s.signments, and knowing that ordinary seventh-graders were probably spending more than two hours doing all that work offered little consolation. She had just finished memorizing the last reflexive French verb when her mother reappeared.

"Amy, Dr. Grain said she'd been trying to reach me for over an hour!"

"No way," Amy objected. "I wasn't online with Eric that long!" But guiltily she remembered that before Eric had connected with her, she had been checking the Web sites of all her favorite TV shows. "You know, Mom, if we had call waiting - "

"There'll be no call waiting in this house," Nancy said. "I don't want to be in the middle of an important conversation and be interrupted by one of your friends. And don't tell me again about the Morgans and their two lines. There are four people in that house and two people in this one. One line is enough for us. Now, please go set the table for dinner."

Amy glared at her mother's retreating back. Nancy had been getting on her case a lot lately. And it was getting on Amy's nerves. How could she possibly keep up with the information superhighway if she didn't go online once in a while? And why should Nancy's phone calls be considered more important than hers?

It was at tense times like this that Amy wondered whether her emotions operated on the same superior level as her physical and intellectual skills. In any case, she needed to cool off. She got up from her desk, ran down the stairs, and hurried out the front door. She sat on the stoop and took deep breaths to calm down.

As she relaxed, her anger toward her mother began to dissolve. It wasn't as if they'd been having serious fights lately - just a lot of little disagreements. And that seemed to be a pretty common situation among girls her age. At school she was always hearing her cla.s.smates talking about confrontations with their mothers - whether over choosing clothes, using makeup, playing the stereo too loud, or watching too much TV. And, of course, tying up the phone line.

When Amy heard these stories, she always thought she was pretty lucky. Nancy was a great mother, and Amy really valued their relations.h.i.+p. Just a few weeks before, when Tasha and her mother had a big blowout, Amy remembered what she'd said.

"Mom and I hardly ever fight," she'd told her friend. "I think we get along better than most mothers and daughters."

"That's because she's not your birth mother," Tasha had reasoned. "Having the same blood and genes makes you fight more."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But it's true. Look at how siblings fight with each other more than with their friends. It's got to have something to do with being related."

Siblings. Being the only child in her house, Amy didn't know much about that. Or maybe she knew too much. After all, somewhere out there in the great big world, she had eleven siblings. Or maybe siblings wasn't the right word to use for twelve identical clones.

Still, there could be truth in what Tasha had said. Amy hadn't always gotten along with the other Amys she'd encountered. And they were the closest things to blood relations she'd ever have.

So why were she and Nancy getting into heavier warfare lately? Amy had mentioned this to Tasha earlier that day, and once again Tasha had provided an answer.

"It's p.u.b.erty," Tasha had told her. "All twelve-year-old girls have wild mood swings."

p.u.b.erty was Tasha's explanation for everything that was changing in their lives. But in Amy's opinion, it was Nancy who was starting every battle. And Nancy certainly wasn't going through p.u.b.erty.

The sound of a car horn made Amy look up. A bright blue convertible sports car was slowly making its way down the street. The woman behind the wheel suddenly stopped the car. She beckoned to Amy.

"Excuse me, young lady, can you help me?"

Amy rose and ambled toward the car. She admired the vehicle's sleek lines and cool headlights. As for the driver, Amy noted that the woman was very attractive, with blond hair and eyes the same color as the car.

"I'm terribly lost," the woman said. She smiled. "I think I've driven through this community about a dozen times!"

"What are you looking for?" Amy asked.

"The entrance to the freeway going north. I don't know this part of Los Angeles at all, and I've been going around in circles!"

Amy nodded understandingly. "It's pretty confusing, with all these twisting streets." She closed her eyes for a moment to get an accurate mental map of the route to the freeway. "Stay on this street for about half a mile, then take the first left after the gas station," she said. "Make a right at the second light, and when you see the big church, get into the right lane. Watch for the McDonald's. Just before you get to it, there will be an access road on the right. That takes you straight to the northbound freeway."

The woman gazed at her admiringly. "For someone who's too young to drive, you certainly give good directions."

"I've watched my mother get on the freeway a zillion times," Amy explained.

A brief shadow seemed to cross the woman's face, but she continued to smile. "Well, your mother is very fortunate to have such an intelligent daughter. Thank you!" With a wave, she drove off.

Amy nodded, wis.h.i.+ng her mother had been there to hear the woman's compliment. Maybe it would have reminded Nancy to appreciate her a little more.

Still, she supposed Nancy would be more impressed if she remembered to set the table for dinner. She had started back toward the house when she heard a car horn honking again. Half expecting to see the woman in the jaunty sports car, she turned. But it was only Mrs. Morgan, pulling into the driveway of the condo next to hers. Tasha was waving from the pa.s.senger seat.

"Which shoes did you get?" Amy asked as Tasha and her mother got out of the car.

"Both of them!" Tasha declared gleefully.

"They were on sale," Mrs. Morgan explained. "The second pair was half price."

"And guess what?" Tasha went on. "I'm going to get my ears pierced!"

Amy's mouth dropped open. Practically every girl they knew had pierced ears, and she and Tasha had been bugging their parents for ages to get permission. "You're kidding!"

"Well, there's a catch," Tasha said. "I have to pay for it myself."

"And you're not to have it done at the mall," Mrs. Morgan reminded her. "I want you to go to a real doctor."

"I know, I know," Tasha sighed.

"That's going to cost a lot of money," Amy said.

Tasha nodded. "About fifty dollars."

"Where are you going to get fifty dollars?"

"Not a clue," Tasha replied cheerfully. "But I'll think of something. I'm just so happy to get permission finally!"