Two Naomis (3 page)

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.

“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.

“Nef might be coming down with something,” says Momma. “We can't send Bri over there. I'm sorry.”

Noooo! “So she's coming with us? What about Dad?”

“He's got conference calls all day,” says Momma. “But he wants you to know that he would definitely rather hang out under the blue whale with you.” The whale room is my favorite
part of the museum. It's so calm, and the whale songs are playing so softly you don't even realize it, but you
feel
it.

“So . . . it's time to be flexible and creative again, right?” I mumble, folding my arms. Then I unfold them and hold them straight out in the most unflexible way I can.

Momma comes and sits on the bed next to me. “And . . . Xiomara's not coming.”

“WHAT?! Why not?” I flop down onto my back.

“Her parents need her at the store,” Momma says. “She and Kwame are going to help with inventory.”

“Aren't there child labor laws against that or something?” I grumble. This day is really losing its woot. “And we were going to the museum to do research for our project,” I say. “Now we'll get a bad grade, and we won't go to college. Everything's ruined.”

“We're still going to the museum,” Momma says, laughing.

I sigh. “Momma, Bri's going to get lost and need to go to the bathroom every five seconds. And then you'll be so busy watching her you won't be able to help me.”

“Not to worry!” says Momma, with a big smile on her face. “I've called in reinforcements.”

I'm ten and Growing Up, so . . . “I get it. . . . Are we having Ladies' Family Day again? Ooh! Does that mean Auntie Evelyn is coming?”

“. . . Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just talked to Tom, and—”

“Momma!”

“. . . we thought that it would be nice if we made this—”

“NO WAY.” I fold my arms again. Momma sighs, and I put the pillow back over my head. I hear Bri return.

“Is her condition over?” she whispers. She runs to the bed and climbs on top of me. “NAOMI NAOMI WE'RE GOING TO THE MUSEUM TOGETHER WITH TOM AND WHITE NAOMI! WE CAN PLAY MUSEUM SCHOOL!”

“I think I'm going to be sick,” I mumble. Momma snuggle-kisses me, but I refuse to smile.

Woot Wednesday is now officially the Worst Wednesday for real.

We're museum members, but there's still a long wait. While we stand on line, I take out my notebook and read over the list I made yesterday. I did flower doodles all over it and drew a smiling sun wearing tap shoes at the bottom. It reads:

  
1. Sleep Late

  
2. Brianna Leaves

  
3. Xiomara Comes Over!

  
4. Museum Trip with Xiomara and Momma!

  
5. Shake Shack!

  
6. Playground!

  
7. Ice Cream!

I crumple it up and toss it in a nearby trash can. I'm making a new list in my head now:

  
1. Everybody in the world decided to spend their Woot Wednesday at the Museum of Natural History.

  
2. Brianna whines and keeps dropping Rahel on purpose.

  
3. Momma says we can see the 3D movie, but it's sold out all day because EVERYBODY is at the museum.

  
4. We meet Tom and the Other Naomi inside, and Tom hugs Momma so tight I'm sure she needs CPR.

  
5. The Other Naomi and I don't hug. And when Momma says
“Oh, it would have been cute if you were both wearing your matching shoes!”
the Other Naomi looks like she made the same promise that I did NEVER to wear them again.

  
6. Brianna gets lost in the rocks and minerals room.

  
7. By the time we find Brianna, she has to go to the bathroom.

  
8. Momma keeps whispering at me to walk with the Other Naomi, but the Other Naomi is being slow and draggy and full of quietude.

  
9. Brianna gets lost in the Hall of Ocean Life.

10. Momma and Tom are so busy making googly eyes at each other that they keep letting Brianna get lost.

11. Brianna drops Rahel in the Hall of New York State Environment, so we have to spend forever wandering around the most boring part of the museum.

12. The Other Naomi keeps talking about how the Met is more fun, so even though I love the Met, I have to pretend I don't.

“My dad's been promising to take me to the Costume Institute for weeks!” she says. “Instead we came here.”

“You can probably still go there today if you walk a little faster,” I say.

“But then your sister will get lost,” she answers right back with a smirk.

Well.

I march ahead, until finally, I get to the special pre-European contact exhibit. . . and there's no basket section. Well, there's something, all right. A sign that says: Currently closed for repairs.

ARGH!!!!!!!

Momma and Tom run up.

“Did your sister come this way?” Momma asks.

The Other Naomi strolls over. “Again?”

Momma tells us to Stay Where We Are, which is the rule of always, and she and Tom go off to track down Bri.

The Other Naomi does a whole lot of eye rolling and sighing.

Momma and Tom return, with Bri dragging behind them.

I grab Bri's hand, even though I'm mad at her. “When I was little,” I whisper, “I used to wish I could spend the night here, just like this book I read.”

“That was
the Met
,” says the Girl Who Was Not Even in the Conversation.

“I know that,” I say. “I meant sleeping over in a museum, any museum.” Before she says anything else, I add, “Did you know there are scavenger hunts at the Met?”

I can tell she didn't; she looks away. Now it's my turn to smirk, but I don't because I'm mature. I just do it in my head.

We make it to the exit with everything—my sister, Rahel, and all the Other Naomi's Bad Attitude.

But something's missing.

We could have turned this day into an adventure, Momma, me, and Bri. The two-and-a-half Musketeers.

We would have been Us.

“Is that thunder?” Momma asks Tom, who is not one of Us.

Bri starts to cry.

“This is great,” mutters the Other Naomi. “Best day off ever—NOT.”

I step forward and stand all the way outside so that no one can see I'm crying too.