Elizabeth took a deep breath. She barely knew where to start. She had the distinct feeling that there was a response Mr. Sterne expected, but she had no idea what that might be. If only he looked a little warmer, a little more receptive! He looked as hard and cold as the glass table in front of him. Still, she had no choice. The chance of winning the Margaret Sterne Memorial Prize rested on this man's approval—and all she could hope was that her natural, relaxed style would win him over! She proceeded to tell him why she wanted to study in Switzerland, particularly at the Interlochen School. "The chance to study with Nadia DeMann means a great deal to me," she added when she had summarized her longing to travel, to learn more about a new culture, and to study under the excellent faculty at the school. "I've always wanted to be a writer. I think working with Nadia DeMann would be the most wonderful thing that could happen to me!"

  "Well," Mr. Sterne said, "you certainly seem to have done your research." He smiled, looking a little less frosty than he had when she began. "I appreciate that. It shows how interested you are. Now, you understand how the fellowship works. Your application is being reviewed by Mr. Hummel and the board right now in Geneva. If Ms. Crawford and I agree at the end of our interviewing process, we make both decisions simultaneously. That is, she decides—after talking with Mr. Hummel—whether or not you can be admitted. And I talk to the other members of the Sterne Trust to decide whether or not you receive the fellowship. Does that make sense?" When Elizabeth nodded, he went on, "Of course, for my part I can't emphasize strongly enough how much we'll be looking at your family, your friends, and the way you behave in your natural environment." He smiled encouragingly. "We want to get the opportunity to learn as much about you as we possibly can. So I hope you won't mind if we pay a great deal of attention to you—especially since you seem so very well mannered." He sniffed. "We care so much about character—and so few young ladies really exhibit good manners these days!"

  Elizabeth breathed an immense sigh of relief.

  He put his fingers together again, a gesture Elizabeth was beginning to find worrying. "I'm sure your family must be every bit as delightful as you are, though, Miss Wakefield."

  Elizabeth managed a weak smile. "Yes," she faltered. "They're—uh, delightful."

  She managed to keep smiling as Mr. Sterne got up to signal it was time to move on for the second round of interviews. She hoped everything went smoothly when Mr. Sterne went home with her. He seemed awfully big on this good-manners business. And who could tell whether or not Jessica and Steven could live up to Mr. Sterne's standards?

  By four o'clock Elizabeth was exhausted. She'd had no idea how tiring it was to keep smiling, to keep saying the same things over and over again. By the end of the interview with Ms. Crawford, she could barely remember what had seemed so important about studying abroad. But, of course, she didn't let on that her enthusiasm was flagging. She knew she had made a good impression. Even the icy Mr. Sterne seemed to have thawed a little bit, and he actually seemed friendly as they drove to the Wakefields' house together.

  "We really do have to keep our standards up," he confided as he pulled his steel gray Mercedes-Benz into the driveway, beaming at the neat split-level ranch home before him. "We can't let just anyone represent the Sterne family. It's such a fine old family, you see." He turned off the engine. "I think families reveal so much about character, don't you, Elizabeth?"

  "Uh—yes, sir," Elizabeth said, her eyes fastened uncomprehendingly on the motorcycle parked in the driveway. No one in the Wakefield family was allowed on a motorcycle. In fact, Elizabeth had broken this rule once and had been involved in a terrible accident that had only confirmed her parents' unequivocal law: no motorbikes of any kind.

  "Gracious," Mr. Sterne said, following her gaze. "Does someone in your family ride that?"

  "No," Elizabeth said, her mouth dry. She had no idea what the motorcycle was doing there. She just wished it would disappear!

  "This is my brother, Steven," Elizabeth told Mr. Sterne when they got inside, wishing her mother were right there to greet them. She looked more closely at him. It didn't look as though he had shaved that morning! Her heart sinking, she wondered what Mr. Sterne thought. She was sure being unshaven fell under the category of "bad manners." "Steven, where are Mom and Dad?"

  "Mom called to say she had an emergency and would be a little late. And you know Dad," Steven added, shrugging.

  Elizabeth blinked. "Steven means that my father is always punctual, of course," she said quickly. "But he had a meeting, and he'll be a minute or two late himself."

  "We're very relaxed in our attitude toward time, to be honest," Steven remarked to Mr. Sterne. "What's an hour or two when it's sunny outside? That's what my father always says."

  "Steven!" Elizabeth exclaimed, horrified. "He never says that!"

  "And what do you do?" Mr. Sterne asked Steven, putting on his glasses and peering down at him.

  "Me?" Steven asked. "Oh, I'm a student. I'm in college."

  "Ah," Mr. Sterne said. "I see. Are you on vacation now?"

  "No," Steven said, yawning a little. "Not really. I just find that I really can't function without my family around. See, we're really a tight group—aren't we, Liz—and somehow I just don't seem to be able to connect without my family around. We're all that way. We all get lost unless we keep in constant touch. Isn't that true, Liz?"

  "I imagine that must make college life rather difficult for you," Mr. Sterne said, looking uncomfortable.

  "Oh, yeah. Just ask my professors," Steven said.

  Elizabeth was listening to this exchange in horror. She had no idea what to say once it became apparent what Steven was trying to do. "Where's Jessica?" she hissed, fearing the worst was yet to come.

  "Poor Jessica," Steven said mournfully. "She just can't stand the thought of losing Elizabeth. See, they're twins—did Liz tell you that? And twins just can't deal with being separated. Jessica is totally unbalanced about the thought of Liz taking off for your little school in Austria."

  "Switzerland," Mr. Sterne said, straightening his tie and looking at Steven with alarm.

  "Switzerland, Austria, wherever," Steven said pleasantly.

  "Excuse me," Mr. Sterne said to Elizabeth. "Can I use your phone for just a minute? I want to let Ms. Crawford know that your parents are going to be a little late. We're all on a very tight schedule, you see."

  "Steven, what are you doing?" Elizabeth demanded in a hoarse stage whisper after she had taken Mr. Sterne into her father's study to use the phone. "What's with all this nonsense about our being so dependent on one another? And whose motorcycle is in the front drive? I'm going to kill—"

  But she never got a chance to finish her threat. Just then the door opened and Jessica came in, and one look was enough to assure Elizabeth that her chance of winning the Margaret Sterne Memorial Prize was completely finished.

  Jessica had actually had the audacity to wear the leather miniskirt. Even worse, she had enough makeup on for Halloween. "Lizzie!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to whirl around for her twin's approval. "Did you see the motorcycle in the driveway? Randy's cousin Tim left it over here. He's coming back in half an hour to pick it up. Isn't it incredible?"

  Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. She didn't know what she was dreading more—the argument that was going to break out when her parents saw the motorcycle, or the expression on Mr. Sterne's face when he caught sight of Jessica.

  "Hey," she heard a familiar voice exclaim as the front door opened. "Whose motorcycle is out there?"

  "Daddy!" Jessica hollered, racing out to the front hall and bumping smack into an astonished—and very unhappy—Mr. Sterne.

  "I don't believe we've met," Mr. Sterne said, putting the tips of his fingers together.

  "I'm going to die," Elizabeth whispered from the couch. She couldn't believe any of that was happening. All she knew was that she was going to kill them—all of them. She was never going to forgive her family for ruining her chances at the Interlochen School.

  Ten

  "I couldn't help the way I was dressed," Jessica said, acting hurt. The family had gathered in the living room to discuss what had taken place that afternoon. Elizabeth was livid. She had accused Steven and Jessica of trying to ruin her chances to go to Interlochen on purpose.

  Mrs. Wakefield glanced at Jessica's outfit. "You do look a little—extreme, dear," she remarked.

  "I happen to have been on my way to a special cheerleading practice," Jessica declared innocently. "We're doing a little routine for the tennis team next week, and we thought we'd do a skit beforehand." She gave Elizabeth a reproachful stare. "I forgot all about Mr. Sterne. Otherwise I would've sneaked out the back door or something."

  "And what about the motorcycle?" Elizabeth cried. "Doesn't it seem just a little coincidental, Jess, that you arranged to appear looking as if you're dressed for Halloween and Randy's cousin's motorcycle just happened to be parked in our driveway?"

  "What motorcycle?" Mrs. Wakefield asked, perturbed. "I thought we'd made our feelings about motorcycles perfectly clear."

  "He was only parking it here," Jessica said vaguely, suddenly intent on her manicure.

  Elizabeth got to her feet, her eyes filled with tears. "And what about you two?" she demanded, turning to her parents. "Did you have to be late? I told you over and over again how important this was to me. I guess I hoped you'd all come through—and instead you made me look like a real jerk." She glared at Steven. "I don't think I've ever heard anything quite like the stuff you came up with! Making us all sound like we can't even leave the room without one another!"

  Mr. Wakefield cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, honey," he said softly. "I managed to reschedule my appointment, but I got a last-minute phone call from New York I had to take. I got here as quickly as I could."

  Mrs. Wakefield looked upset. "I'm sorry I was late, too. I had to send out some plans for the new building downtown, and I got held up."

  Looking stern, Mr. Wakefield turned to Steven and Jessica. "Can you two explain what you were trying to do here? Because if you can't, I'm afraid we're going to have to punish you—and I mean punish severely. You had no business trying to get in the way of your sister's chances for that scholarship, however much you were against it."

  "We didn't mean any harm," Jessica objected. "And I don't see what either of us did that was so awful. Mr. Sterne was the terrible one," Jessica pointed out. "What was his problem? He looked like he was from an evil planet on "Star Trek" or something."

  Steven giggled. "Jess is right. He kept leering at me. I think the guy's creepy, Liz. Why would you want to go anywhere on a scholarship from his family?"

  Elizabeth's face burned. "I still think you were all unfair—every one of you," she cried. "Mr. Sterne was only trying to do his job." She narrowed her eyes. "I just hope the interview tomorrow goes more smoothly. Maybe I can still salvage things. The way it stands now, he just may pity me—he may think I'm a perfectly nice girl who just happens to come from a family of weirdos!"

  "That's a fine way to talk," Steven said. "After I tried my hardest to show how loving and concerned we all are."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "You're impossible," she said. "To tell you the truth, I don't want to be with any of you. I just want to be alone. Is it OK if I just stay up in my room? I really don't feel much like eating dinner."

  Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield exchanged concerned glances. "Sure, honey," Mrs. Wakefield said. "But try not to worry. I'm sure Mr. Sterne couldn't find a better candidate for his prize—even if your family did come across as slightly chaotic."

  Elizabeth didn't answer. She just felt tired—tired and disappointed. And she had a terrible lump in her throat as she climbed upstairs to mull over all that had just transpired.

  "Liz, can I come in?" Mrs. Wakefield asked. It was later that evening, and Elizabeth was sitting at her desk, staring outside unhappily.

  "Sure, Mom," she said.

  "Jeffrey's on the phone. He says he tried to find you this morning." Mrs. Wakefield came over and patted Elizabeth's shoulder. "He wants to hear how your interview went."

  Elizabeth bit her lip, remembering how she felt the night before when she had talked to Mrs. French. "Mom, I can't talk to him right now. Could you tell him I'm asleep?" she asked in a low voice.

  Mrs. Wakefield frowned. "Are you sure? He really sounds upset, honey."

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I'm sure," she said heavily. She couldn't face the thought of talking to Jeffrey, knowing that he was really just counting the minutes until she found out whether or not she'd won the scholarship. She could just imagine what would happen then. At first he'd pretend to be upset. Then little by little he'd show her that he was getting used to the idea. Then—when it became obvious they were going to be separated, that she was really and truly going to boarding school in Switzerland—he and Enid would drop the bombshell.

  Elizabeth stared out the window after her mother left the room. How had everything gotten so messed up so quickly? She had been more excited about the Interlochen School than anything she could ever remember. She'd been certain it was the best thing she could possibly do. Now—well, now she really couldn't tell what she was feeling. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Jeffrey. And not just Jeffrey. If she went away, what would happen to her friendships? What about being so far away from Jessica—and her parents?

  Elizabeth swallowed. It had all seemed so simple before. Now she didn't know what she wanted—except that she wanted to have a chance at the scholarship. And the way her family had behaved that afternoon seemed to her to have ruined that possibility completely.

  If only everything would make sense again! Elizabeth buried her head in her hands. All she could do was hope that she'd impressed Mr. Sterne enough that afternoon to make him ignore Jessica and Steven's behavior.

  "How'd you think it went?" Jessica whispered to Steven. They were out on the patio, enjoying the warm evening and rehashing the events of the afternoon. Steven was examining a new cordless telephone Mr. Wakefield had brought home from the office.

  "It's hard to say. Sterne seemed so weird it's not easy to figure out what would really bug him the most. But I think we were pretty obnoxious. If only Liz weren't such a perfect candidate!"

  Jessica looked at her brother, her blue-green eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe we should see what we can do about that," she murmured.

  "Jess, you have that rotten look on your face," Steven said, laying the telephone down on the patio table. "That conniving, I-think-I'm-going-to-do-something-really-dreadful look that only you can summon up. Don't tell me you've got something up your sleeve."

  "You see," Jessica began, thinking out loud, "it isn't enough making ourselves look rotten. That could backfire. Maybe this Mr. Sterne will go back and tell the committee that Elizabeth's family is completely batty. And then they'll decide she's even better than she is, having managed to be so pulled together despite her weird background. Then they'll give her twice as much money and send her away for twice as long." She looked gloomy. "No, we've got to do something really drastic now. Remember what Mom always says, 'Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.' "

  "Spare me," Steven groaned. "Just tell me what you think we should do next."

  "OK," Jessica said, lowering her voice. "I think we need to show Mr. Sterne that Liz really isn't the Liz he thinks she is. In other words, she isn't sweet and loyal and helpful. She's actually kind of schizophrenic. She seems really great but she's actually boy crazy and unstable, a real basket case."

  "Sounds familiar," Steven said fondly, leaning over to rumple Jessica's hair. "Only how do we manage to convince Mr. Sterne?"

  "Well," Jessica said thoughtfully, twisting her hair around her finger, "suppose I just happen to wear something exactly like what Liz wears to school tomorrow? And suppose I manage to keep bumping into Mr. Sterne—with a different boy each time? And pretend I'm Liz?"

  Steven's eyes lit up. "Not a bad plan," he said, commending her.

  "I'll just have to cut the classes Liz and I have together, but it's worth the risk. After all, I'm saving my own twin sister. Also," Jessica said, leaning forward confidentially, "I heard Liz tell Mom that a big part of the interview is yet to come. Supposedly this Ms. Crawford woman is coming to the school office tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty to meet Mr. Sterne. They'll have one last chance to ask Liz questions—and that's when you can help."

  "Help? How?"

  "Dial the office number and keep asking for Liz. Try using different voices and give different names, so it looks like different guys are trying to reach her. That ought to cinch it!"

  "Jess, I don't know what to say." Steven grinned. "I don't know whether to call you a genius or a real jerk."

  "How about something in between? Like a devoted, loving twin sister?" Jessica demanded. She leaned forward, grabbing the phone.

  "Now what?" Steven asked as she began to dial Lila's number.

  "Oh, I just want to make sure everyone else knows what's going on tomorrow." Jessica smiled mischievously. "We're going to need all the help we can get if we're going to undo Liz's fine reputation in a single day!"

  "Hey," Mrs. Egbert said, coming into the living room where Winston was sitting alone in the dark, deep in thought. "Are you OK, honey? I thought you'd gone to bed hours ago."

  Winston shrugged. "I guess I'm OK. Mom," he said tentatively. "Have you ever had a decision that you just couldn't make? I mean something where you find yourself thinking you're going to do one thing and then the next minute you've completely changed your mind?"

  Mrs. Egbert sat down, snapping the lamp on next to the couch. Her face was thoughtful. "Yes," she said after a moment's reflection. "I take it you mean something big—something like a moral dilemma, not just like where to go on vacation or something like that."

  "Yeah—a moral dilemma," Winston repeated.

 

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