I’m smiling and nodding yes, because it’s what I WANT to do, but I’m also remembering that Dad said next Saturday I have to meet a lady, not the no-head kind. Someone he has been seeing a lot. She has two kids, daughters. And for some reason, it’s really important that we have a meal together.
“I wish,” I say. “I have to go with my dad to have lunch with Valentine, I think her name is. His new lady friend.”
“Lady with a head probably, right?”
“Probably.” I smile. Annie’s the best. The best best friend.
And without even saying a word, because that’s how it is with best friends, Annie kicks the soccer ball to its spot by the back door, and we both go back inside, to Mom’s sewing room. Because I want to be there, and Annie somehow gets that. I really want to be with my mom, but being with her stuff is better than not being with her at all.
CHAPTER THREE
Naomi Marie
“Why aren’t you wearing a fancy dress?” asks Brianna for the seven hundredth time. “Momma said this was a special ’cay-zhun. That means ‘fancy.’”
“I haven’t decided what to wear, and it’s occasion, and it’s not, actually. It’s only lunch. With Tom.” I turn away and mutter, “Big whoop,” so she can’t hear.
“I’m telling,” sings Brianna, who has magic supersonic ears whenever I don’t want her to.
“Of course you are,” I answer. Momma is wearing the long skirt she got at the Dance Africa festival last year. Like it’s a holiday or something! “Come on, you have to clean up all these Legos and clay,” I say.
“I can’t. I’ll mess up my fancy dress. If you put yours on, then neither one of us will have to clean up!” Brianna happy-dances, and I join her for a few seconds because that’s pretty good thinking for four years old. I’ve taught her well.
Still. “It doesn’t work that way,” I say, holding out the Legos bin. Being four must be nice. I don’t remember. Because ten is all about being responsible. Like cleaning up your room to play nicely with Tom’s daughter, though she may not even be capable of playing nicely. But no one is thinking of that, are they? No, they aren’t.
Momma has been so nervous and jumpy and making fancy Thanksgiving food, even though it’s nowhere near Thanksgiving, just because Tom and his probably mean daughter are coming over today. I even had to miss my Saturday-morning library visit! Which is always a great follow-up to my Friday-afternoon visit, because lots can happen in between. But nooooo, even though Tom’s daughter probably hates libraries, I have to be neat and polite. And I will. Because I am responsible. I will hold my head high like Queen Nefertiti and smile (only a small one) and remember to put my napkin in my lap, but I will not, I repeat, NOT wear a fancy dress. Take that, mean library-hating daughter of Tom-who-needs-to-make-his-own-lunch.
She is not even dressed up! Tom’s daughter has on a purple shirt with a bear holding a sign that says California, and old jeans, and she’s carrying a gray sweatshirt. What she doesn’t have is a smile, and I’m standing there with mine on, all big and fake just like Mrs. Banco on the first day of second grade, right before she yelled at Sarafina Wilson for crying.
In addition to my smile, I have on my skating jacket and leggings with the cool red swirls. I’m actually a little hot, but I think my skating outfit makes me look strong and confident, like a girl in a poster. Plus it has a tiny hole that no one but me knows about. So there. I do have on the dangly gold earrings Nana gave me, which I usually save for special occasions, but also for days when I need to be brave. I almost wore my “Daddy’s Girl” T-shirt. But that would be mean, and I don’t want to be mean, like Tom’s daughter probably is.
“Hi, guys, come on in,” says Momma in a really loud voice.
Which is maybe why, when Tom’s daughter says hi, it seems really quiet. I hope that’s why and not because she has, like, quietude, which is a good way of pretending you’re behaving when you’re actually thinking uncooperative thoughts. I can beat anyone at the quietude game. I narrow my eyes.
“Hi, girls!” booms Tom, like a ringmaster.
“Hi!” Brianna yells back. So I say hi too, in my quiet-but-not-quietude voice, because Momma is giving me a look.
They start taking off their shoes, and I look down. “Hey!” I blurt out. “I have those in red!” Tom’s daughter has green high-tops with purple laces, the same ones I got last week. I point to mine on the shoe rack by the door.
“Cool! I got mine last week,” she says, and there isn’t any attitude, so maybe she’s only feeling the same way I am, which is WEIRD.
“You have good taste,” I say, and I smile a real smile, to make things a little less WEIRD.
We all move into the living room and stand looking at each other until Brianna flops down on the couch; then everyone else fake-laughs and sits down.
“Well, isn’t that funny,” says Momma, glancing at Tom. She laughs a tinkly, fairy godmother laugh just like Mrs. Driscoll before she gave us that pop quiz on all the bridges in New York City. Tom laughs too, and clears his throat.
“What?” me and Tom’s daughter say. At the same time. Heh.
“Well,” says Tom, “it’s quite funny, because we already have quite a coincidence here. . . .” He trails off.
“Dad, it’s not like they only made one pair,” his daughter says, and we catch each other’s eyes because, PARENTS. Once Momma met some lady at the bodega who was buying the same brand of toilet paper and had a son who used to go to my school, and they were all, What an Amazing Coincidence. And when I said that actually it didn’t seem that remarkable to me, all I got was a side-eye from Momma and no points for using the word remarkable in a sentence.
“Oh, it’s not the shoes,” says Momma. “It’s, well . . . we thought this would be such a funny little surprise for you girls. We’ve been waiting to tell you. . . .” She trails off too, and I can tell Tom’s daughter is getting as scared as I am, because we both say “WHAT!!!!????” in very loud voices.
Momma and Tom look at each other again, and oh my goodness, if I were stalling like this, Momma would be calling me Naomi Marie, which she usually does when she’s either really mad or really glad about something I did.
“Naomi, meet . . . ,” Momma starts in a low voice, like when she’s about to tell me that we’re actually not going out for pizza but having leftovers instead.
“Naomi!!!!” Tom finishes, like he’s actually taking us out for pizza. Which he isn’t.
Whoa. He must be really nervous. Naomi? He can’t even remember his own daughter’s name. A teeny tiny bit of Poor Tom pops up in me.
“What’s her name?” Brianna says, pointing to Tom’s daughter.
“That’s it!” says Momma, laughing harder and faker. She grabs Tom’s hand, which makes me not feel that Poor Tom for him anymore. “Naomi, meet Naomi!”
“We have two Naomis!” Tom says, smiling like he just got birthday cake on a regular day.
Wait, what?!!!
Brianna starts to cry.
CHAPTER FOUR
Naomi E.
It wasn’t cool of Dad to keep that secret. A secret with Valerie. Secret from me.
But it’s not like I’m going to cry about it.
When the crier finally catches her breath, she says, “How come Naomi gets a twin and I don’t?” Which makes no sense at all.
“We’re not twins,” I say in maybe not my nicest voice. “We just have the same name!” I walk over to the couch where she’s sprawled. “What’s your name?”
She sits up and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Ew. “Brianna.”
“Didn’t you ever meet another Brianna?” The other Naomi walks over to us, like maybe I should back off her sister or something even though I’m only trying to help.
“Remember in your dance class?” she asks. “Brianna T. and Brianna W.?”
Brianna sits up straight on the couch, and her feet stick straight out. It makes her look so little. I use a nicer voice.
“See?” I say. �
��And you weren’t twins, right?”
“I’ll say,” the other Naomi says. “Those two had to get lots of Reminders, remember?” Then they look at each other in this we’re-sisters-and-you-wouldn’t-understand kind of way.
“Naomi,” Dad says way too loudly. “I mean, my Naomi. Why don’t you show Naomi and Brianna what we brought?”
Cookies!! Before this day took a turn for the weird, Dad and I went to Morningstar. It’s the best bakery in the world. Every time Dad and I walk in, Stefan or Sheera or Bessie starts making his coffee and asks me “Croissant or bagel today, Naomi?” And today, after breakfast, I got to pick out a pound of their amazing butter cookies, with chocolate sprinkles, rainbow sprinkles, colored sugars, chocolate chips, and royal icing.
I take the box—tied with that cool bakery string—to Brianna, because Dad is practically pointing at her with his head.
The box doesn’t look as nice as it did when we left Morningstar. There are some greasy stains, which just shows how buttery and perfect those cookies are if you take a second to think about it.
“Is this cupcakes?” she asks, sort of grabbing the box away from me.
“No, really great cookies,” I say, looking to the other Naomi, hoping she can help.
“I love cookies,” she says. “Almost every kind.”
“Me too!” Maybe this Naomi and I can escape the little sister. This is all weird enough without having to worry about hurting someone’s feelings just by having a name.
“Except,” she says, and then at the same time we say, “peanut butter.”
Dad and Valerie laugh way too loud.
“But wait a minute,” the other Naomi says, her eyes on the box of cookies. Then she looks at her mom and stops.
Valerie gently shakes her head.
“But what?” I ask.
“Nothing . . . did you ever meet another Naomi before?” she asks me.
“One time,” I say. “At my cousin’s Bat Mitzvah. She was a great dancer.”
That makes Brianna jump up and start dancing. Naomi looks ready to join her, but she glances at me and then at her mom and asks, “Can we eat now?”
Then it’s all sorts of time-for-lunch action as Valerie asks her daughters to help, leaving me with Dad, standing near the table, already set for five, not knowing what to do. Would it feel less weird if they were at our house for lunch? Because here they know everything and I don’t even know where to sit. Or where the bathroom is. But then, if we did have them over for lunch, there’d be a good chance Dad would completely forget to give them any food. And then that baby might cry even more.
Valerie, Brianna, and the other Naomi bring out an amazing feast—enough food for fifteen people, I bet. Really cheesy mac and cheese, big soft rolls, colorful salads, rice and peas, chicken! I wonder if maybe they only have meals once a day like Dad and I sometimes do, though with us it’s usually by accident.
I serve myself plenty of everything because it all looks so delicious. And beautiful too on my big yellow plate.
We’re all busy eating when Dad reaches for a second roll and asks, “How’s that new program at the library going, Naomi?”
I try to remember what program at the library. And it’s quiet while everyone waits for me to answer.
Finally, Valerie says, “Naomi Marie? He’s talking to you.”
The Naomi that’s her daughter asks, “How’d he know about that?” She looks down at her food.
How is anyone supposed to know who they’re talking about, or to? But also, why does Dad know about some program Valerie’s kid is doing at a library? He can’t even remember which days I have gym.
The Naomi he was talking to, the one who isn’t me, shrugs. We eat in quiet for a little while. Then Valerie says, “I hear you like playing checkers, Naomi,” which I think she said to me.
What is she even talking about? Did Dad tell her how I beat his friend Loofie three times in a row? Who even cares? I mean, if someone is going to know one thing about me, it shouldn’t have anything to do with checkers.
It could be that my mom is working on a cool movie, and I can’t wait to visit her and maybe even go on the set. Or that I read Charlotte’s Web four times last summer. Or that Annie and I once wrote a play called You’re Too Tall and We Don’t Understand! and we sold tickets and performed it in her backyard.
Checkers is something like 832nd on the list of important things about me.
“Yeah,” I say. And then I get really serious about eating. Because I can’t be expected to talk when I’m eating.
“Can I be escused?” Brianna asks, and I want to say, “It’s excused,” and would you believe that’s exactly what the other Naomi says?
“Well, I suppose you could,” Valerie says. “But then you’d miss those delicious cookies Tom and Naomi brought. So why don’t you help clear the dishes?”
I stand to clear my plate when Brianna says, “Why did you say cookies? What about the coconut cake?”
“We’ll be having the wonderful cookies that Tom and Naomi were thoughtful enough to bring.” Valerie’s teeth are clenched even when she’s talking, and I am certain her eyes, staring straight at Brianna, could not possibly be open any wider.
“Could we have both?” the other Naomi asks. “Cookies and coconut cake?”
I don’t like coconut cake, so I don’t really see what the big deal is.
Dad says, “Valerie, if you made something special, then by all means, please serve it. Save the cookies for another day.”
“But I—”
Dad doesn’t let me finish. “I’ve always wanted to try your coconut cake.”
I whisper, probably a little too loudly, “I don’t like coconut cake.” The truth is, I’ve never even tasted it. But I don’t usually like coconut anything. And I want those cookies. And if she isn’t going to serve them, I want her to close that box right up and wrap the string around it again and hand it back to me so we can take it home.
Everyone heard me. It’s quiet for a little too long. Finally, Valerie says, “Let’s have both. It’s a special occasion, having Naomi and Tom over for the first time.”
“I told you it was a special ’cay-zhun,” Brianna says to her sister. “You should of wored a dress. Not the skating clothes with the hole.”
“Hey, um,” the other Naomi says to me in a really sweet voice, “you should taste my mom’s cake, just a tiny taste. Everyone loves it.”
So I kind of have to. And I guess it is pretty good. But I can’t make myself eat more than that one bite. That doesn’t keep me from eating cookies. Seven of them.
When we leave, Valerie puts all the extra cookies and one big piece of coconut cake into the Morningstar box to take home. Knowing Dad, that will be our lunch tomorrow. Mmm.
CHAPTER FIVE
Naomi Marie
“Are you awake yet?”
“No.” I pull my comforter all the way up over my head. I haven’t slept a real sleep since last Saturday’s lunch “surprise.”
“Then how come you talked?”
“Because you woke me up.”
“But—”
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell Momma about the peanut butter you put in Rahel’s hair.”
“You told me to!”
“Everybody knows you don’t put peanut butter in doll hair. But I’ll still tell. So leave me alone.”
“You’re not supposed to tretten me. I’m telling.”
ARGH!!!! I sit up and throw my small yellow pillow at Bri’s head. “Hello, I’m trying to sleep, doughnut hole! And the word is threaten, as in this.” I make a scary face at her.
She throws the pillow back at me and climbs into the bed next to me. “So do you want to play school instead? I can be the teacher now.”
I give up. “Okay, but . . . it’s bedschool. That means the students get to lie down the whole time.”
“Okay. My name is Mrs. Vitamin C. Welcome to my bedschool. What’s your name, little girl?”
“Naomi,”
I mumble. “And I have a condition where I keep my eyes closed.”
“Welcome, Naomi! There’s another Naomi in this class too. You can be Black Naomi, and she can be White Naomi. I think you should be line partners!”
I roll out of bed to the floor. “I’m Naomi,” I say. “And I’m not being line partners with anyone. I’m not even playing anymore.” I wait for Bri to cry and call Momma.
She gets out of my bed and sits next to me. “Want to play something else?”
“No.”
“Are you sleeping again?”
I pull a pillow down and hold it over my head until I hear her leave. Then I feel bad, because she’s going to be gone all day anyway, for a playdate with her friend Nef, while Momma takes Xiomara and me to the natural history museum.
I love days like this. No school on a Wednesday! Woot! It’s like a little weekend smack in the middle of the week. The teachers still have to go to school and do meetings or something, which is maybe what made grouchhead Ms. Horvath give us homework, but at least it’s project homework. A Penobscot artist from Maine visited our class last week and showed us these beautiful baskets made from brown ash trees. Now Xiomara and I are doing a presentation on Penobscot basketmaking traditions, and we can do a lot of research at the museum, so today we’re combining a day-off playdate with team homework. Woot! Woot!
Momma pokes her head in. “Sorry, sweetie pie. I gather from little Miss Vitamin C’s report that she woke you up. I was going to give you another half hour.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I want to get up and get ready anyway. What time is Nef’s mom picking up Brianna? We should get to the museum early.” I haven’t told Momma yet that my list of things to do today includes a Shake Shack lunch after the museum. And the Maker Magic Playground. Also maybe ice cream. I checked the weather twice last night, and it’s supposed to go up to 75 degrees. That sounds like ice cream weather to me, especially if Xiomara and I do a good job of being industrious. Maybe I can drop that word into our conversation for bonus points.
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