“Go to school,” Yumiko told me. “Take photography. Learn skills that are useful. Your high school probably has a great darkroom.”
I hated it when Yumiko was as stupid as everybody else. I couldn’t get interested in any class. I told Chloe that I hated her, that she bored me, but I still couldn’t think about anything at school but her, trying to picture where she was, who she was talking to, how wrong it was that we were not in the same class. But I had to go back. I would take two of my mother’s Valium and weave down the hall, almost happy.
The idiot math teacher beamed at me when I took an empty seat at the front of the classroom for first-period geometry.
“Chloe,” he said. “Precalculus meets after lunch.”
It had been so long since I had come to school, he forgot I was taking his class. He thought I was Chloe. I loved it when I passed for Chloe. I loved my mother’s pills. “Is it okay if I sit in?” I said. “I need to brush up on my geometry for the PSATs. At least half of the math section is geometry.”
The idiot teacher believed me. I sat in the front-row seat, taking notes the way Chloe would take notes—as if I actually gave a shit about isosceles triangles. I had no idea what the idiot teacher was talking about, but I grinned at him and he beamed back at me, thinking that I was the good twin, that I was Chloe. There was still hope for me. My face had not changed.
When the bell rang, I saw Lisa Markman staring at me from the back of the classroom and I knew I was back where I belonged. I had new purpose. Lisa Markman didn’t get to have Chloe without me. She’d have to put up with me, in her face, all the time.
I walked over to Lisa and touched her fake little nose.
“So delicate,” I said.
I followed Lisa Markman everywhere, sat next to her on the bench in the parking lot when she went out to smoke, walked into the bathroom with her, watching her reapply her makeup. “You stink, you know,” she said once, puffing on her cigarette. I grinned back at her, glad that my odor bothered her.
Another time, I kicked open the bathroom door stall. Lisa sat on the toilet, red underwear bunched around her ankles.
“You are so out of your mind!” she yelled. She kicked the door shut with her pointy black shoes.
I waited for her while she finished. Lisa went to the sink and washed her hands. Then she opened her purse and took out a prescription pill bottle. “A lot of celebrities take these,” she said, swallowing a pill without water.
I reached out and touched Lisa’s new little nose. She offered me a pill and I took it. I almost thanked her, but I stopped myself. It felt strangely okay to be alone with Lisa in the bathroom. She seemed to almost accept me being around. It was more difficult with Chloe. She had started eating three meals a day. She jogged to school and did sit-ups in the living room, and said nothing when I borrowed her clothes or destroyed her schoolbooks. I didn’t take a shower for a week, and Chloe didn’t even notice.
“I like your hair,” I said.
Lisa Markman had started shaving her head when she was in Italy. She was almost a different person bald. I would be a different person without my hair. “Maybe I’ll shave mine too.”
“You shouldn’t. Your hair is gorgeous.”
“You mean Chloe’s hair.”
“Your hair is gorgeous,” Lisa said. “Honestly, what is your fucking problem? You have the same exact hair.”
Lisa Markman walked to the door and motioned for me to follow. We walked down the hall, out the door, down the block. When we got to the corner, Lisa leaned on me, taking off her fuck-me shoes, so that we stood almost eye to eye.
“These things are killing my feet,” she said and started walking barefoot down the street.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“My house,” she said.
We didn’t have to go far. She called a cab that picked us up when we were a couple of blocks from school.
The walls of Lisa Markman’s bedroom were covered with photographs of herself. We sat on her bed facing each other, and then she lay back, stretching her long legs across my lap. I looked around, trying to imagine Chloe in this room. I felt myself wanting to touch Lisa’s milky brown toes.
The picture of her red underwear around her ankles flashed in my mind.
“Chloe won’t be here for a while,” Lisa said, “so we might as well chill.”
I could feel her celebrity pill working. I could hear Yumiko encouraging me, wanting to hear whatever story I could report to her. Chloe wouldn’t like it that I was here with her best friend. Now it was Chloe who was left out.
“Chloe drives me crazy,” Lisa said. “She is so fucking boring, and I know I’ve got to forget about her, but I can’t.”
“Chloe drives you crazy?” I said.
I was surprised. I tried to look at Lisa’s face, but she caught me looking so I turned my head away.
“What’s it like to be a twin?” Lisa said.
I shook my head. “Haven’t you asked Chloe?”
“I want to hear what you have to say.”
“I would never tell you,” I said. “I don’t even like you.”
Lisa Markman nodded. “Like I care,” she said. “Do you know how many people out there worship me?”
“How many?”
Lisa looked at her fingers. “Sixty-two,” she said.
“You made that up?”
“Eighty-two. I don’t know. When I was on the runway, I could see those eyes, rows and rows of them. People worshiping me.”
Lisa suddenly rolled onto her stomach, inching her way over to me, her butt in the air. She slid her hand under my sweater. “Why do you rub your back all the time? Do you also have a tattoo?”
I was proud of my tattoo. I lifted the back of my sweater so she could see.
“Chloe,” Lisa said, scooting over until she was right next to me. She put her finger on my back, tracing the letters. I felt a shiver go down my spine. “I saw Chloe’s in Hawaii when she was getting changed.”
Her hand was going up and down my back, softly under my sweater. I closed my eyes.
“Right now,” she said. “I’m rubbing your back and I’m pretending you’re Chloe.”
I liked that. I liked the idea of being Chloe.
“I look like Chloe,” I said.
“You are identical to Chloe. You have princess hair.
“Is this nice?” Lisa said. She leaned forward and put her lips on my back, right on top of my tattoo. “Do you like this?”
I wanted her hand to go further, spreading that feeling of softness all over my body.
“Call me Chloe,” I said.
“Chloe,” Lisa said. “Beautiful Chloe. Lift your arms.”
Lisa slid my sweater up over my shoulders, over my head. I was looking directly at a glossy photo of Lisa wearing red lipstick, a trench coat open to her belly button, and knee-high leather boots. I liked it better when my eyes were closed. I hated Lisa Markman. I had hated her for years. I crossed my arms over my flat chest. I had never bothered to wear a bra. I didn’t have anything to cover myself with.
“Don’t,” Lisa said. “You are so beautiful, Chloe.”
I closed my eyes. Lisa Markman kissed my neck.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” She cupped her hand under my chin, tilting my face to hers. With my eyes closed, I knew what to do. Lisa Markman slid her tongue into my mouth. This was what it was like for Chloe to get kissed.
Lisa Markman and I lay back together on the bed.
“I love kissing,” she said.
Lisa rolled me over onto my side. She put her hand on my chest. She felt my nipple with her fingers. I squeezed my legs closer together. I was trembling.
“You’ll let me touch you, won’t you, Chloe?”
Lisa Markman’s hand moved down to my stomach. A soft moan escaped me.
“I adore you, Chloe,” Lisa said.
“You do?”
I opened my mouth to be kissed some more. I felt sick with jealousy. This was how
Lisa wanted to touch Chloe. She wanted to possess her. Steal her away. I did not know how I could bear it when Chloe would really leave me, pack her bags and go far away. She was still set on going to college. Lisa licked the tears as they slid down my cheeks.
I reached for her hand and put it between my legs.
Later, Lisa Markman showed me her indoor track. It was on the second floor of the house, above a full-size indoor gym.
“My father runs here when it rains,” she said.
I didn’t understand. We had fallen asleep on her bed. I’d woken up thirsty, confused. My clothes were crumpled on the floor.
“What are we doing here?” I said.
Lisa hissed. “Shut up, psychopath,” she said.
I balled my fingers into a fist, thinking I was going to hit her. Then, the door to the gym opened and Chloe came in. She was wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a New York Knicks T-shirt. Her basketball sneakers. She walked to the far wall and picked a basketball from the rack.
“What’s going on?” I said.
Lisa shook her head.
She pointed down to the floor.
Chloe stood at the foul line. She bounced the ball twice, staring at the basket. Her expression was almost fierce.
“Basketball?” I said.
Lisa put her hand on my mouth. “Shut up already.”
Chloe took foul shot after foul shot. Most of them went in. In between shots, she smoothed the hair in her ponytail. For maybe ten minutes, Chloe did nothing but shoot foul shots. I couldn’t get over it. What was she doing here playing basketball? Chloe came to Lisa Markman’s house to hang out with Lisa. Chloe was not athletic. Chloe was an honors student.
She started taking shots from different points around the basket.
Lisa looked at me.
“It’s totally fucked up,” she whispered.
Then Mr. Markman came into the gym. He was a giant next to my sister, tall and solid and black. We had a perfect view of his gleaming, bald head.
Lisa shook her head at me.
“Every day,” she whispered. “They’re here.”
“Good day at school?” Mr. Markman said to my sister.
Chloe shrugged. She raised the ball to her chest.
“Higher,” Mr. Markman said. “So the defense can’t block your shot.”
Mr. Markman took two steps toward her, so she would have to shoot above him. The man was a fucking giant. But Chloe shot the ball up high, like he told her, and Lisa and I watched it sail over Mr. Markman’s arm and fall into the basket.
Chloe grinned.
Lisa bit her lip.
Mr. Markman whistled. “Nice shot. Very nice. It’s that natural talent.”
He dribbled the ball, staring at my sister.
“You’re all warmed up?”
Chloe nodded.
“Let’s work on your layup this afternoon,” he said. “What do you say?”
Chloe nodded at Mr. Markman. “Okay, Rodney,” she said.
She blushed saying his name. I couldn’t believe it. Mr. Markman tossed her the ball, and without hesitation Chloe caught it, dribbled to her right, and then drove to the basket. She had been here before, meeting with Mr. Markman, playing basketball. I looked at Lisa. She was biting her lip. Nothing was the way I thought it was. Chloe had a secret life. I watched, speechless, as Chloe tripped over her sneakers when she got close to the basket. The ball hit the backboard, circled the rim, and went back out. Chloe landed on her butt.
“I missed,” she said sadly.
Mr. Markman offered Chloe his arm. She grabbed it, and he pulled her up to her feet. Chloe smoothed her hair.
“Try again,” he said. “Take your time.”
Chloe got up. She did ten layups from the right side, ten from the left. She made every single layup from the right side. She missed three from the left. She looked expectantly at Mr. Markman every time a shot went in.
He grinned, passing the ball back to Chloe, saying, “Try it again. Try it again.”
Chloe
Nothing felt as good as making a jump shot and watching Mr. Markman nod his head in silent approval. Or when he hooted after I made my first reverse layup. He had dared me to do it, and remembering his moves from the videotapes, I’d taken a run at the basket. I couldn’t believe it when the shot went in. There was nothing Sue could do to take that away from me. No cold glare from Lisa or Todd could stop me from returning to their house to practice basketball with their father in his gym.
Once again, I made the decision to become a new person. I gave up on the idea of being an exceptional student. I had to accept the fact that, as hard as I tried, I was not and would never be extraordinary at school. As Sue liked to say, any idiot who studied enough could get good grades. I had agonized over French and still made the same mistakes over and over.
But in just a few weeks, I had mastered both the right- and the left-handed layup. I had a killer fadeaway jump shot and what Mr. Markman said was essential to any elite player: a pair of fast hands. Mr. Markman said that should I choose to develop my skill, I could be a top player, because I had a natural gift. A gift. I repeated these words silently to myself throughout the day—when I was at home waiting for Sue to come out of the bathroom, or watching her walk through the halls at school, following Lisa. I didn’t like the two of them together. I was certain that they were conspiring to get me, but I pretended not to notice. I tried to concentrate on what was important: basketball.
Mr. Markman had convinced me that I had to play on a team to fully expand my talents. He also told me that it would be selfish not to play for an audience. Gifts, he said, need to be shared. The day before the high school team tryouts, Mr. Markman presented me with wonderful presents: a pair of Nike Air basketball sneakers and a stuffed animal, a soft white polar bear with a red ribbon around its neck. Mr. Markman had a way of looking at me and making me feel special.
Mr. Markman was proud of me when I made the varsity squad. He wanted me to play on the team, and so I would, but I hated the idea of giving up my afternoons with him. I had started playing basketball just to be near him. If he had been a skydiving teacher, I would have eagerly jumped out of an airplane. The team practices made me nervous. I was one of fifteen other girls; all of them, I was sure, would dislike me if I made too many shots or outran them during the drills. I was wary of the team coach, who called me Swiss Miss, making it clear how much I stood out on the almost all-black team. I talked to no one when I got changed in the locker room. And I missed Mr. Markman. I could hear his voice while I played, always telling me to push a little harder, run a little faster. I thought about him constantly, remembering every little detail of the day’s practice, the jump shot I nailed, the layups I missed, so I could report back what I learned to him.
By the end of the first week, I knew that I would be fine. Mr. Markman had prepared me for all of the shooting drills and the passing drills; I understood the concept of zone defense even if I had not actually experienced it on the court. The other players seemed to accept if not actually like me. The center, Kendra, sometimes told me “nice shot” during practice.
I had a brand-new life, centered on basketball. Mr. Markman was adamant that I change the way I ate. According to him, I could not reach the peak of my form without proper nutrition and required protein and carbohydrates to keep up my energy. He insisted on three meals a day.
“No more diets,” he said. “I look at my own beanpole daughter and I see a poster girl for malnutrition.”
Sue watched me eat with open hostility. It had never been easy eating with Sue. The day I had gotten my period, my parents had come home with lasagna, Sue’s absolute favorite food, but she wouldn’t eat until I had eaten, and she stared at me, her fork poised in front of her mouth, waiting until I swallowed. Now we were almost seventeen, and I worried that Sue still had not gotten her period. I remembered us throwing up together, sure that she needed help. Sue had always been furious with me for being on a diet, and now that I wasn’t,
she still wasn’t eating. She was still furious.
“Aren’t you worried about getting fat?” she said.
Of course I was terrified about getting fat. I was worried about exposing my arms and legs in the ugly team uniform: shiny blue shorts with green stripes down the sides, and a matching green-and-blue tank top. The colors made me look sickly, and I was afraid that I was becoming muscular and ugly. But I was on the varsity basketball team, and Mr. Markman was proud of me. I had to trust that I burned off the calories through exercise.
Sue looked at the food I prepared with disgust. She wouldn’t eat unbuttered toast or apple cinnamon oatmeal. She would not eat roast turkey sandwiches or salad without dressing, but sometimes I saw her eating at school. One time, I saw Sue and Lisa Markman sharing a Snickers bar, chewing from opposite ends, the way we used to when we were little. I saw their tongues touch as they ate, and I decided that I would not think about them together. I remembered Lisa’s fingers exploring under my bathing suit. I did not want to know.
I would not think about Lisa Markman any longer, and though it was harder, I also tried not to think about Sue. Mr. Markman had told me that to be a great basketball player I needed to focus all of my energy on basketball. I discovered that I had more energy from eating, that I could run harder and play longer. Mr. Markman kept close track of my progress. He said that if I wanted to I could be a star; I could play for a college team and then move on to the Summer Olympics, the WNBA.
I didn’t care about stardom. I didn’t want to go to college and play on a college team. I wanted only to play for Mr. Markman.
Mr. Markman took me to see the Knicks play at Madison Square Garden.
I had been there before, a long time ago. My parents had taken us to see the Ice Capades and the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey circus. Sue had loved the clowns in their enormous shoes, riding the unicycles. Daniel had put cotton candy in my hair. My father yelled at him, and made him cry. This was to be the first time Mr. Markman had been back since his own retirement. The Knicks had offered him a coaching position that he had turned down. He had also been offered a recruiting position and a broadcasting spot and probably more jobs that I did not know about. “I don’t need money,” he explained to me. “When a man retires, he retires.”
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