Under Their Skin

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

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  For anyone who’s ever had a sister, a brother,

  a stepbrother, a stepsister,

  a mother, a father,

  a stepfather, a stepsister,

  or any other kind of family.

  ONE

  “You’re doing WHAT?” Nick exploded.

  “Getting married again,” Mom said calmly. She took a sip of her coffee. “People do it all the time.”

  “Not you,” Nick said. “You don’t. You’re too—”

  Eryn had to kick him under the breakfast table. She was pretty sure his next word was going to be weird. Or strange. Or too much of an oddball.

  It wasn’t that Eryn thought she could read Nick’s mind because they were twins. She was just good at figuring people out.

  This morning she’d known the minute she woke up that something unusual was happening. Even from her snug cocoon of a bed, she’d been able to smell Mom’s turkey-sausage-and-egg-substitute casserole. Mom only made that casserole for special occasions, like Christmas morning. And . . .

  Okay, only Christmas, Eryn thought. In her entire twelve years of life, Eryn couldn’t think of a single other time Mom had made that casserole. But every December 25, Mom made two pans of it: one to have with Nick and Eryn, and one for Dad to take to Grandma and Grandpa’s after he dropped off Nick and Eryn.

  Mom and Dad had been divorced since Eryn and Nick were babies, but it was what they called an “amicable” divorce. Everybody was nice to everybody else.

  But now if Mom’s getting married again, will everything change? Eryn wondered. Is that why Mom wants us to think today is as special as Christmas? So we start out with a good attitude?

  Eryn looked down at the table in front of her. Besides the special breakfast casserole, there was also a pan of the cinnamon rolls that Mom usually made only for Nick and Eryn’s birthday. The orange juice in the glasses looked fresh-squeezed.

  And even though it was a Saturday morning, it kind of seemed like Mom had dressed up for breakfast. Mom wasn’t the type to lounge around in sweatpants, anyhow, so it was hard to tell. But the wool blazer, silk blouse, and perfectly styled hair were over the top even for Mom.

  Eryn realized that Nick was glaring at her with an expression that clearly said, Okay, genius, if you don’t like what I was going to say, why don’t you do the talking?

  Sometimes they did kind of have twin telepathy.

  Eryn took a tiny sip of her juice. Yep, it had definitely been surrounded by orange peel only a few minutes ago.

  “Um, congratulations, Mom,” Eryn said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “That’s great! I bet you and Michael will be really happy together!”

  She darted her eyes at Nick as if to say, There. That’s the best I can do. It’s your turn. Just don’t say you think Michael is weird too. Even though he is.

  Really, weren’t all adults pretty weird?

  Mom blinked in her usual slow, thoughtful way.

  “I know you’re both wondering how this will affect your lives,” she said. “Because you are preteens. And preteens, facing all the changes of adolescence, are predisposed to be a little self-obsessed.”

  This really was how Mom talked. She was a middle- school psychologist—she got paid to talk like that.

  “No, no, we’re just happy for you . . . ,” Eryn said, forgetting she’d planned to let Nick speak next.

  Mom blinked again. When she was little, Eryn had asked Mom once if all that blinking was a sign that her brain was turning off and on. Or switching channels. Mom had laughed so hard at that.

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. “It’s perfectly normal to be concerned about your own well-being. I won’t lie to you. You will have to adjust to some big changes. But I think they are changes that will enrich your lives.”

  Nick stabbed his fork into his turkey sausage.

  “Michael will be around a lot more,” he said. “Right? That’s a change.” He glanced at Eryn. “But—that’s okay. I like Michael.”

  Mom let Nick play video games when Michael was around. Somehow Eryn didn’t think Mom meant more of that would be “enriching.”

  What if, once they’re married, Michael thinks he gets to tell us what to do all the time? Eryn wondered. What if he starts yelling at Nick for playing video games? Or tells me I have to play too? What if he thinks he gets to tell us to do our homework and clean our rooms?

  “After the wedding, Michael will be here all the time, right?” Eryn asked, trying not to sound like she thought that would be disastrous. “He’ll move in with us?” Something worse occurred to her. “He wouldn’t expect us to move in with him, would he?”

  She had never actually been to Michael’s condo. Mom had always had a policy of not letting Nick and Eryn spend much time with anyone she dated. Dad did the same thing. It had something to do with child psychology, and with Mom and Dad not wanting Nick and Eryn to get too attached to someone who might not be around very long. Since Nick and Eryn spent every other week at Mom’s and every other week at Dad’s, this always worked out. But Mom and Michael had been dating for two years. Now that Eryn thought about it, wasn’t it kind of weird that she and Nick had never seen where Michael lived?

  When he was going to become their stepfather?

  There. Eryn had let herself think the dreaded word.

  Mom patted Eryn’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Michael and I discussed where we’re going to live, and we want to make sure we’re fair to everyone. We don’t want to make it like anyone is moving into anyone else’s turf. That’s why we’re going to buy a house that’s totally new to everyone.”

  “What?” Nick exploded once again. He dropped his fork and bolted half out of his chair. “We’re moving?”

  This time Eryn didn’t kick him under the table.

  “But, but . . . ,” Eryn sputtered. “We’ve lived here our whole lives! Our whole lives when we aren’t at Dad’s, I mean! Which I guess is our whole lives half the time, but . . .”

  It wasn’t like Eryn to be at a loss for words, but she was now.

  “I was hoping we could have this discussion calmly, and you could fully adjust to thinking about only one change at a time,” Mom said. “But yes. We’re going to move.”

  Mom gently maneuvered Nick back into his chair. She kept her hand firmly on his shoulder. She put her other hand back on Eryn’s shoulder, too, keeping her in place.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom said. “We’re doing everything we can to keep any negative impact on the two of you to a minimum. We’ll stay in Maywood, so you won’t have to change schools. And we’ll look for a house that’s no more than ten or fifteen minutes away from your dad’s house. So sure, we’ll live in a different structure, but nothing else of any importance will change.”

  Sometimes Eryn felt like she had to translate Mom’s school-psychologist gobbledygook in her head. Sometimes that meant it took her brain a while to catch up with Mom’s words.

  This was one of those times.

  “Wait a minute,” Eryn said, shaking Mom’s hand off her shoulder. “You said something about only one change at a time. You’re getting married, we’re moving—what else are you going to spring on us?�
�

  Mom opened her mouth, but it felt like a full minute passed before anything came out.

  “Can’t we just take this one change at a time?” she asked faintly.

  “Oh no,” Nick said. “What else is there?”

  He was looking at Eryn, not Mom. His dark brown eyes drilled into her identically dark brown eyes. At times like this, Eryn didn’t feel like they were just twins. They were teammates. They were partners. They were two halves of the same brain.

  It was them against Mom.

  “What else could there be?” Eryn asked, waving her arms dramatically. “What else happens when you get a stepdad? It’s not like Michael has kids, so we won’t have to deal with stepbrothers or stepsisters. Or—”

  Mom made the tiniest sound in the back of her throat, and Eryn whirled on her.

  “Mom?” Eryn said.

  “Does Michael have kids?” Nick asked.

  “Kids you’ve somehow never bothered telling us about?” Eryn added.

  Mom pursed her lips. She blinked three times.

  “Well, actually, um . . . yes,” she said. Her tone changed, switching to her I’m the mom, and I’m in charge—don’t question me voice. Her sweep everything under the rug voice. “Michael does have kids. But don’t worry. I promise, you’ll never have to meet them.”

  TWO

  This is a setup, Nick thought.

  He could still remember Mom using reverse psychology on him to get him to brush his teeth or take a bath or go to bed when he was a little kid. After dinner every night she’d say, “Now, Nick, I know you want to go brush your teeth right now, but you are absolutely not allowed. You need to wait at least an hour. I’m sorry, but getting ready for bed is simply not permitted yet.” And, stupid little kindergartner that he was, Nick would race to the bathroom and grab his toothbrush and scrub it against his teeth as hard as he could.

  This is the exact same thing, Nick thought. Mom thinks we’re going to start begging, “Oh, please, we want stepbrothers and stepsisters! We want a million of them! Please let us meet them!”

  Wouldn’t it be funny if Nick just said, “Yo, Mom, we’re twelve. Not five. Ain’t gonna fall for none of that. Uh-uh”?

  Mom didn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he could probably make Eryn laugh.

  Except Eryn did seem to be falling for Mom’s setup. Eryn was going totally ape.

  “Mom, what are you talking about?” Eryn screeched, shaking her head so hard that her shoulder-length brown hair flew out in all directions. “Who are these kids? How old are they? Where have they been all this time?”

  She barely paused to give Mom a chance to answer, but Mom’s face was already set like stone. The information about Michael’s kids might as well be locked away in a vault.

  “You and Michael have been dating for two years,” Eryn wailed. “How could Michael have had kids all along that neither of you even mentioned? What kind of dad is he that he never once said something like, ‘Oh, my little Billy likes that kind of ice cream too?’ Or, ‘Want to help me pick out a birthday present for my little Katie?’ He never even spoke their names around us! You still haven’t told us their names. Or—anything!”

  Nick leaned forward and tried to catch his sister’s eye. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “And . . . and . . . having stepsiblings we never meet?” Eryn went on ranting. “That’s just weird, Mom. People don’t do that.”

  Mom stood up and took Eryn by the shoulders. She fixed her eyes on Eryn’s face and spoke in a calm, emotionless voice.

  “Young lady,” Mom said, “we have talked about this and talked about this. And we will continue talking about this as long as you are susceptible to peer pressure. You shouldn’t be so concerned with what other people do or don’t do, or what they might think of you and your actions. You have to make the right decision for you, which may or may not be what others choose. And as a family, we have to do what’s right for us. We think about our impact on others, of course, and on society as a whole, but . . .”

  Nick tuned out. He’d heard this lecture before. He gave up trying to get Eryn’s attention and brought a forkful of turkey sausage to his mouth. He might as well eat while he waited for Eryn to figure out Mom’s trick.

  “But, Mom, why?” Eryn wailed. “Whether it’s normal or not—and it isn’t—why don’t you want us to meet these other kids?”

  Mom blinked, almost as if she hadn’t expected this question.

  “Stepsibling relationships can be very challenging in a blended family,” she said. She seemed to be speaking with great care. “Ava and Jackson have absolutely nothing in common with you and Nick. Michael and I have decided that it simply wouldn’t be fair to any of you to expect you to integrate into a single family unit, especially at a time when you’re facing so many other changes. So we’ll keep you totally apart. Ava and Jackson will be at their mother’s house while you two are with Michael and me, and you’ll be at Dad’s whenever Ava and Jackson are around. We feel that this is best for everyone.”

  Red alert! Red alert! Nick thought, almost choking on his sausage.

  This had to be the bait in Mom’s trap. She had everything set up for Eryn to wail, But, Mom! You’ve always told us people can be totally different and still be BFFs! Are you saying you don’t think we could love a stepbrother or stepsister who’s different? Or she could say, Hello? Do Nick and I have anything in common except being born together? Or . . .

  Nick decided he needed to stop thinking of things Eryn might say and just stop her from taking the bait. He stretched out his leg under the table, to give her the same kind of kick she’d given him. But his aim was a little off. His foot slammed into one of the table legs. The whole table shook, and orange juice sloshed out of all three glasses.

  “Who did that—Nick?” Mom cried, jumping back so none of the juice landed on her tan pants.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Nick said quickly. “Remember how my legs are growing faster than I can keep track of? I’ll clean it up.”

  He went into the kitchen and waited just a split second.

  “Hey, Eryn, can you help me find the dishcloth?” he called.

  He wasn’t looking out into the breakfast nook, but he was pretty sure Eryn would roll her eyes at that. He didn’t care as long as she still came into the kitchen. He leaned over the sink, pretending he was searching hard.

  A moment later, Eryn stomped up behind him.

  “Seriously, Nick? It’s right in front of you,” she said, lifting the cloth from the dish drainer, wetting it under the faucet, and wringing it out.

  Nick used the sound of the running water as cover.

  “I needed to warn you,” he whispered. “She’s using reverse psychology. Don’t fall for it.”

  Eryn squinted at him. Her squints were like Mom’s blinks—that’s what they each did when they were thinking. Eryn squinted so much she would probably have permanent lines on her face by the time she was twenty.

  Quickly, Eryn glanced back toward Mom in the breakfast nook and said loudly, “Oh, come on, Nick. You need to rinse it out better than that.”

  She turned the water back on, full force and loud. But she didn’t put the dishcloth under the faucet.

  “I don’t think that’s what she’s up to,” she whispered back to Nick. “I’ll be careful, but . . . there’s something else going on. Something suspicious. And I’m going to figure out what it is.”

  Nick shrugged and grimaced and hoped Eryn would figure out that he meant, All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Eryn shut off the water, and both of them went back to the breakfast nook. Nick started wiping up the spilled orange juice.

  Eryn slid back into her chair.

  “Okay, I get that us being at Dad’s half the time and those other kids being at their mom’s half the time means we don’t actually have to live together,
” Eryn said. “And believe me, that’s fine. But you said we’d never even meet them. How about at the wedding? Aren’t you inviting your own children to your wedding?”

  Mom daintily dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

  “Actually, no,” she said. “Sorry. We’re eloping. Michael and I decided it would be so much more romantic to elope.”

  Nick aimed a kick at Eryn again. He tried to make it more accurate this time. But at the same time, apparently Eryn was trying to kick him.

  Their feet met in the middle, under the table, and that was all they needed.

  Eryn’s kick very clearly said, Eloping? Who are they kidding? They’re both, like, forty! Now do you believe me that something weird is going on? Will you help me figure out what it is?

  Nick’s kick carried a briefer message: Oh yeah.

  THREE

  Ava and Jackson, Eryn thought. Jackson and Ava.

  It had been thirty-six hours since Mom had sprung the news on her and Nick about the marriage, the move, and the mystery stepsiblings. And in those thirty-six hours, that was all Eryn had been able to find out about the mysterious kids: their names.

  No matter how much she and Nick asked, Mom wouldn’t tell them anything else.

  They’d even Googled the two kids’ names and found nothing.

  Now it was Sunday night, and Dad had just arrived to pick them up for the next week at his house. Eryn met him at the front door.

  “Did you know?” she demanded.

  Dad looked baffled. He hit the palm of his hand against the side of his head, which was his jokey way of acting like he was trying to jar something loose in his brain. This left his wild, curly, dark hair slightly mashed on one side.

  “Um . . . know what, Sunshine?” he asked.

  Mom slid up behind Eryn and held the door open for Dad.

  “Hi, Donald,” she said, giving him a single kiss on the right cheek. He responded by giving her a single kiss on the left cheek.

  This was their Sunday night routine. Once, years ago, Eryn had talked herself into thinking Mom and Dad might get back together. She only had the nerve to tell this theory to Nick. But somehow, even as a six- or seven-year-old, Nick had been cued in enough to adult behavior to tell her, “They kiss on the cheek. People who want to get married kiss on the mouth.”