Free Get Real by Betty Hicks Page B

bell.
    â€œIt’s for you.” Dad hands me the phone and leaves the room, stooped like an old man.
    I dry my hands and pick up the phone.
    â€œDez!” cries Jil. “Guess what!”
    Before I have time to think, much less guess, she says, “Penny’s friend has the flu so bad she’s throwing up buckets. Can you come to the Duke–Carolina game tomorrow night?”

Chapter Eleven
    I am sitting in row M, seat 8, under a sea of blue banners that represent all the championships the University of North Carolina has won. Twenty-three thousand screaming fans are blasting out more decibels than a million jets taking off. Dick Vitale is interviewing Coach Roy Williams, live on ESPN, right in front of me, and shouting, “It’s awesome, baby!”
    Sometimes people lie to themselves. Each and every one of those times that I swore I would never come to this game even if Jil had begged me, I was flat-out lying.
    Did I know I was lying?
    Probably. Deep down.
    *   *   *
    Mom-2 and Penny picked Jil and me up at my house, right on time. Since Jil’s parents are out of town, she’s going to spend the night with me after the game.
    â€œYou’re going to love Mom and Penny!” Jil exclaimed just as her new family blew the horn to let us know they were in the driveway. Jil’s saying that is no big deal, except that in the last hour she’d said “You’re going to love Mom and Penny” fourteen times. I counted. But each time, she jerked on her earlobe.
    Who was she trying to convince?
    But as soon as I set eyes on Mom-2 and Penny, I could finally understand some of Jil’s excitement. They all three looked alike. It was amazing. Not just the blue eyes and turned-up noses that Jil had already told me about. No. It wasn’t any one feature so much as it was that they just looked alike. The whole petite, cute-as-a-button package.
    It took about forty minutes to drive the fifteen miles to Chapel Hill because the game traffic was awful. For the first ten minutes, Jil and Mrs. Simmons both tugged at their earlobes. I guess nervous habits are inherited. But then we all settled in and talked and laughed. Mrs. Simmons and Penny talked the most. And Jil was right. They are nice.
    Mrs. Simmons said she was glad to meet me, and then, yay! did not spend the next hour asking me all the dumb questions that grown-ups usually ask some poor kid they’ve just met. Like, How’s school? What grade are you in? What’s your favorite subject?
    Instead, she told me all about Penny. How she likes school and gets good grades and loves math.
    Then Penny told us all about her school and her dog named Patches and how she wants a horse for her birthday.
    â€œI want a piano,” I volunteered.
    â€œThat’s nice,” said Mom-2.
    â€œYeah,” said Jil. “You should hear her. She can already play better than—”
    â€œPenny’s a wonderful rider,” said Mom-2, “but I’m afraid a horse is out of the question. I mean, where would we put a horse?” She laughed this funny little laugh that sounded like a tiny machine gun, but cute.
    Jil and I filled them both in on every detail we knew about Carolina basketball. We told them about our first game, and how we’d worn tar-heel tattoos—tiny blue feet with black circles on the heels—on our faces.
    â€œCan I get one?” asked Penny.
    â€œWe’ll all buy one,” said Jane.
    I was beginning to think of Mom-2 as Jane. She was more of a name than a number now that she had a face. Especially since it was Jil’s face.
    When we finally got inside the Smith Center, Jane and Penny ooohed and aaahed over the size of the huge domed building. Then we all got fake tattoos. Jane bought Penny two, one for each cheek, plus pom-poms. Jil and I each got one, and then we all went into the ladies’ room to put them on. All four of us were laughing like little kids,