Better Late Than Never Read online

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  "Wow!" Jenna said with admiration. "You've really got them wrapped around your little finger."

  "Yeah, well, after all those years of neglect, they owed me," Tracey replied. "Hey, have you done the assignment for Monday yet?"

  Her mouth stuffed with guacamole, Jenna could manage only to wrinkle her nose. That wasn't a response to the food--the guacamole was delicious--but to the reference to their homework. Madame had ordered her students to prepare a brief oral report describing when they had first become aware of their gifts.

  She swallowed. "No. What about you?"

  Tracey nodded. "It was easy for me. The Devon Seven were born and I was reduced to a nonentity."

  "A what?"

  "Something that doesn't exist."

  That was another aspect of Tracey that was different. Once she'd started speaking up, she'd revealed something about herself that no one had ever expected--she was smart.

  "It's not so simple for me," Jenna said. "I can't remember when I started reading minds. It seems as

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  if I've always known what people are thinking."

  "That reminds me--I've got a favor to ask." Tracey eyed her eagerly. "While you're staying here, could you please not read my mind?"

  Jenna grinned. "Why? You got some big secret you're hiding from me?"

  "No, it's just a question of privacy."

  That was what Madame was always telling Jenna--that reading people's minds was like eavesdropping on private conversations or reading someone's diary.

  "So do you promise you won't read my mind?"

  "I don't know if I can promise," Jenna said. "Sometimes I can't help it. It just sort of happens. You can't control your gift, can you?"

  Tracey sighed. "No. Ever since I got my body back from Amanda, it's harder and harder to disappear. I've been practicing, though, and I'm starting to be able to fade a little. Have you been practicing?"

  "I don't need to practice. Like I said, it comes naturally."

  "I mean, practice not mind reading. That's what

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  Madame means about controlling our gifts-- knowing when to use them and when not to."

  Jenna shrugged. "Whatever. You could try to block me. I think that's what Madame does so that I can't read her thoughts. Or . . .Wait a minute--I've got a better idea. I can't read my own mother's mind, so maybe if I think of you as a sister, I won't be able to read yours either."

  "Could you do that?" Tracey asked. "Think of me as a sister?"

  Jenna shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know," she replied honestly. Not being a very family-oriented person, it was hard for her to imagine the kind of feelings that sisters might have for each other. On the other hand, if she had to have a sister, she supposed Tracey would be okay.

  "Yeah, all right," she relented. "I'll be your sister."

  The door to Tracey's bedroom burst open and seven little Devons ran in. "Can we play now?" "Will you read to us?" "Can I have some chips?"

  They were all over the place. Tracey offered Jenna a halfhearted smile. "Not that I need another one."

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  Chapter 2

  AMANDA BEESON STRUCK a pose in front of the dressing-room mirror. "What do you think?" Personally, she didn't really care whether or not Sophie or Britney or Nina approved of the dress she was trying on-- she thought she looked hot. But you were supposed to ask your friends for their opinions, so she did.

  "So cute!" Sophie exclaimed, and Britney nodded vigorously in agreement. But Nina wasn't quite so enthusiastic.

  "I don't know . . . The dress is okay, but isn't it a little too tight around your hips?"

  "That's how it's supposed to be," Amanda informed her. "Figure hugging." She punctuated this with a narrow-eyed glare.

  In the olden days--like, a month ago--a look like that would have reduced Nina to a quivering mass of

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  apology. But lately, Nina hadn't been quite so easy to push around. It was almost as if she was challenging Amanda's authority as Queen Bee of the eighth grade at Meadowbrook Middle School. And this wasn't the first time.

  Amanda noticed that Sophie and Britney were exchanging wary looks. She knew she needed to assert herself immediately and remind them who was in charge here. She performed a little twirl in front of the mirror and nodded in satisfaction.

  "It's fabulous. It's perfect for me--I'm going to buy it," she stated firmly.

  As she was making the purchase, she glanced over to where the girls were waiting for her by the door of the boutique. She couldn't hear what Nina was saying to the others, but Sophie's uneasy expression and Britney's quick glances in her direction worried her. As she handed over her mother's credit card, for the zillionth time she made a silent vow that the recent change in her life would not disrupt her social standing.

  Leaving the boutique, the girls made their way through the mall and down an escalator to the food

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  court, where eight different kinds of fast-food counters offered lunch.

  "Let's get pizza," Nina declared.

  Sophie and Britney looked at Amanda. Amanda took her time, letting her gaze move from the Chinese noodle place to the Burger King and beyond. "I'm going to the salad bar," she announced.

  There was no reason why they couldn't each have whatever kind of food they wanted, since all the customers had to take their food away from the counters to the tables set up in the middle of the court. But it was traditional for the group to buy their lunch together as well as eat it together, and Amanda was gratified to see Sophie and Britney following her to the salad bar. A few seconds later, Nina joined them, too. Amanda mentally racked up another point for herself.

  But Nina hadn't given up. As soon as they sat down at a table with their salads, she asked the question that Amanda had been expecting--and dreading.

  "How's your new class?" she inquired. "What's it called--'gifted'?"

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  Amanda chewed slowly on a carrot stick. Eventually, however, she had to swallow and reply.

  "Fine." She knew that wouldn't be a sufficient answer for Nina, and she was right.

  "Why do they call it 'gifted'?" Nina wanted to know. "I mean, no offense, Amanda, but you're not a genius."

  "Actually, I don't have the slightest idea why people call it that," Amanda replied casually. "The students aren't brilliant or anything."

  Nina persisted. "But you must be special in some way to get picked for the class. Like special ed."

  Amanda stiffened. Special ed was the term used for classes attended by kids who weren't able to do the same work as their classmates. "No, it's nothing like that."

  "But you're together as a group, so you must have something in common. Let's see . . . isn't Emily Sanders in that class?"

  Britney gasped. "Emily Sanders, the space cadet? The Queen of Cloud Nine?"

  Sophie giggled. "She's in my biology class, and she's so out of it. Every time the teacher calls on her,

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  she practically jumps out of her seat. It's like she's on another planet."

  Amanda almost smiled. If only they knew! When Emily looked as though she was daydreaming, she was actually having visions of the future.

  Nina's eyes glittered. "So, what do you have in common with Emily Sanders, Amanda?"

  "Nothing," Amanda replied sharply.

  "Who else is in the class?" Nina continued. "Oh yeah, that nasty boy in the wheelchair--what's his name?"

  Sophie supplied it. "Charles Temple. Is he as mean as he looks, Amanda?"

  "How should I know? I've never even spoken to him." But all three of them were looking at her curiously now, so she had to come up with something to explain the group. "Look, as far as I can tell, we're just a bunch of students who were picked by chance--like out of a hat. I think they're doing a study or a survey, something like that."

  "Who?" Nina asked.

  "What?"

  "Who's doing this survey?"

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  Ama
nda groaned. "I don't know! Mr. Jackson, maybe."

  "The principal?"

  "Or--or the board of education, or something like that. For crying out loud, who cares?" It was definitely time to change the subject. "Hey, did you see American Idol last night? I can't believe Joshua was voted off--he was my favorite."

  Naturally, Nina picked up on this as another opportunity to disagree with Amanda. "He wasn't a very good singer."

  "But he was so cute," Sophie said. "I just love blond-haired boys with dreadlocks."

  Amanda breathed a silent sigh of relief as the TV show became the topic under discussion. She couldn't really blame her friends for being curious. After all, it didn't make sense. Amanda Beeson was cool. The gifted class was mysterious. Mysterious wasn't cool. Amanda Beeson was in the gifted class. Therefore, Amanda Beeson wasn't cool. Which just went to show how sometimes logic didn't make any sense. Amanda Beeson not cool? It was a completely unthinkable conclusion.

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  There was no way on earth that she was going to reveal the real reason for the gifted class--it was just too embarrassing. Very few people knew why the class existed, and the class members hoped to keep it that way. Who would want the whole world to know you're a freak?

  Amanda herself still couldn't believe that she'd been classified as one. Okay, she'd always known she was a little different. She'd been having weird experiences since she was five years old, when she saw a shabby woman begging on a street corner. She'd felt so sad for the woman that somehow her mind took over the woman's body and she actually felt her suffering. It happened other times, too. Whenever she experienced a lot of sympathy for another person, she became that person. It was very annoying.

  It wouldn't be so bad, being a body snatcher, if she could pick and choose the bodies she snatched. Unfortunately, she couldn't snap her fingers and become Miss Teen America. She had to feel pity first. And it wasn't as if she could feel sorry for someone like what's-her-name, who won the gold

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  medal for figure skating in the last Olympics. Instead, Amanda became a girl who was hurt in an accident, a battered housewife, a boy who was picked on by bullies. Or Tracey Devon.

  Yeah, it was all pretty strange, but she didn't believe she belonged in that class of weirdos. She hadn't body snatched since Tracey, and as long as she could keep herself from feeling sorry for anyone, she'd never have another experience like that again. If only she could convince Madame of that and get herself released from the World of Wackos . . .

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Britney's soft shriek. "Ohmigod! Don't turn around--it's Ken Preston."

  Naturally, Sophie ignored Britney's direction and turned. "He is hot," she remarked.

  No one was going to argue with that--not even Nina. When a guy was tall and broad shouldered, when he had silky sandy-blond hair falling into emerald green eyes, a cute dimple, and a square jaw, he was highly desirable. He'd been a star of the Meadowbrook soccer team until he'd had some sort of accident a couple of months before, but he still

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  looked like an athlete--and that was what counted.

  Amanda watched him with interest. He hadn't noticed the girls, but if he continued walking in the same direction, he'd go straight past their table. Oh yes, Ken Preston was very hot and totally sought after by every girl at Meadowbrook Middle School. And Ken Preston was in the gifted class, too, along with Emily Sanders and Charles Temple and Amanda Beeson.

  As he got closer, the girls automatically looked away from him and toward one another. When he was practically alongside them, Nina spoke loudly. "Anyone want my tomato?"

  The voice drew his attention, but he didn't look at Nina. "Hey, Amanda."

  "Hi, Ken," she replied.

  He moved on, and she basked in the glow of her friends' admiration. "I think he likes you," Sophie said excitedly.

  Nina rolled her eyes. "Because he said hello to her?"

  "He didn't speak to me" Britney said mournfully.

  "He came to my pool party last spring, and he doesn't even remember my name," Sophie added.

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  "Well, I see him every day," Amanda explained. "He's in the gifted class with me."

  She was gratified to see Nina's mouth drop open. "You're kidding!"

  Amanda smiled. "I'll take your tomato."

  It was while she was putting salt on the tomato that she noticed two other "gifted" classmates walking across the food court. This time, however, she wanted to dive under the table to avoid their seeing her. Greeting Tracey Devon and Jenna Kelley would not impress her friends.

  Fortunately, the two girls turned in another direction, and Amanda could breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe she was being snobby and shallow, but what choice did she have? Now, more than ever, she had an image to maintain.

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  Chapter 3

  ON MONDAY AFTER lunch, Amanda hung out alone in the restroom, brushing her hair and applying layer after layer of lip-gloss until her lips were unbearably sticky. Then she used a tissue to wipe off the gunk before starting all over again. She was killing time, something she did every day at school after lunch. She would have preferred to hang out in the cafeteria, but all students were made to leave when the bell rang, to allow the kids who had the next lunch period to find seats. So she had to spend the eight minutes before the next class in the restroom.

  It wasn't only because she was reluctant to go to her next class. She wanted to time her departure from the restroom so that she would enter room 209 just as the bell was ringing. She didn't want to be late--that would mean demerits and

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  eventually staying after school for detention. But if she arrived before the bell, she'd be available for conversation with her classmates, and that was an intolerable thought.

  In other classes, she enjoyed the prebell socializing that went on. But she had no desire to communicate with any of her gifted classmates. Actually, that wasn't strictly true--she wouldn't have minded talking to Ken Preston, but he always ducked in at the last minute, too. He was probably just as humiliated to be there as she was.

  Today, her timing was slightly off. When she entered the classroom, she looked at the clock and noted with dismay that there was still maybe half a minute before the bell--just enough time for Tracey Devon to turn to her and try to start a conversation.

  "I just thought you'd like to know--the girls are feeling a lot better now."

  Amanda looked at her blankly. "Huh?"

  "The Devon Seven. My sisters." Tracey grinned. "Maybe I should say our sisters. Remember, I told you last week that they had the measles."

  "Oh yeah, right," Amanda said while thinking,

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  Please, bell, ring now.

  "They've got only a couple of spots each, "Tracey went on.

  "That's nice," Amanda mumbled, refusing to meet Tracey's eyes. Finally, the bell rang, and no one could talk.

  Amanda would never admit it to Tracey--or anyone else, for that matter--but she was actually sort of interested in the well-being of the septuplets. When she'd lived inside Tracey's body, she had almost enjoyed the time she spent with the cute little girls. But that was then and this was now, and as far as Amanda was concerned, all connections were severed when she got back to being her own self again.

  Would Tracey never give up? she wondered. Just because Amanda had inhabited her body for a while, Tracey seemed to think that she and Amanda should have some sort of special bond. Ever since the girl had recovered her body, she'd been acting like they were friends--as if!

  True, Tracey wasn't anywhere near as nerdy as she used to be before Amanda so kindly made her over. But she certainly wasn't in Amanda's league, and

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  with her own status on the line, Amanda couldn't afford to be seen as friendly with Tracey Devon.

  It was the same with Jenna Kelley When she had been Tracey, Amanda had been forced to befriend Jenna. And okay, maybe she did find the rebellious girl a teeny-weeny bit interesti
ng. But Jenna wasn't any higher on the popularity chain than Tracey-- neither of them was even remotely cool--and Amanda was in no position to be charitable.

  Madame had risen from her desk and was calling for attention. The petite, dark-haired woman gazed over the class like a shepherd overseeing a flock-- kindly but watchful.

  "On Friday I asked you to try to recall the moment when you first became aware of your gift," she said. "Would anyone like to volunteer to go first?"

  Why did she bother to ask that? Amanda wondered. That was one way in which this class was no different from any other class--nobody ever volunteered.

  Madame sighed. "You will all have to report sooner or later."

  But everyone preferred not starting, and Madame

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  gave up. "Charles, you can go first. When did you first realize you had a gift?"

  All eyes turned apprehensively to the boy in the wheelchair. When Charles was asked to do something he didn't want to do, he could get upset. And when Charles was upset, he could create a tornado in the classroom. Not only would he make a mess, but there was always the possibility that he would send a freshly sharpened pencil into someone's eye. It hadn't happened yet, but everyone knew it could.

  But Madame had been working with Charles on controlling his temper, and it seemed to have had some effect. Charles didn't look happy, but at least the clock didn't drop off the wall, the light bulbs didn't explode, and he actually attempted to answer the question.

  "I'm not exactly sure. I think I could always make things move. My mother says that when I was a baby and I was hungry, I could make the bottle come to me in my crib."

  "But when's the first time you remember using your gift?" Madame asked.

  Charles went into a long, rambling tale,

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  something about ruining his older brother's baseball game by sending every ball he hit directly into the pitcher's mitt. Bored, Amanda wondered for the zillionth time why Madame made them talk so much about their stupid gifts. What was the point?

  The teacher was always telling them that if they discussed their gifts, they would come to understand them, and if they understood them, they could learn to control them. Maybe some of the other kids needed to talk, but Amanda knew perfectly well how to control her "gift"--which she didn't consider a gift at all, but something more like a bad habit. All she had to do was avoid caring about anyone other than herself and she'd never run the risk of snatching anyone's body. Instead of feeling sorry for people, she made fun of them.