Rainbows & Fireworks
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Nobody ever asked Betsy Reisman if she wanted to be a twin, but since she and Meg are stuck with each other, they’ve reached a truce. Mostly they keep busy—Betsy with her beloved piano and her plans to go to Juilliard and Meg with learning her fifth (or is it sixth?) language. It’s about to get harder, though, since their parents, both writers, have decided to take the year off from New York City’s high rents and live in a country cottage on the estate of a much-wealthier family. The owner is a friend of Betsy’s mom, and the whole family is sort of local nobility, or at least that’s how everyone treats them.
Eunice, the oldest daughter, is not at all happy about the Reismans’ arrival. This is just fine with Betsy, who only likes people who like music. But Meg goes for successful and popular—and Betsy knows that Meg will be heartbroken if Eunice snubs her—and the rest of the school follows suit. Worse, their parents haven’t stopped fighting since they got there. The sisters decide that to make the year as tolerable as possible, they’re going to have to stick together and at least try to get along. Kind of like friends—or maybe even like sisters.
Susan Beth Pfeffer
Susan Beth Pfeffer is the author of many books for teens, including the New York Times best-selling novel Life As We Knew It, which was nominated for several state awards, and its companion books, The Dead and the Gone, This World We Live In, and The Shade of the Moon. She lives in Middletown, New York.
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Rainbows & Fireworks - Susan Beth Pfeffer
CHAPTER ONE
My mother took one look at the gatehouse and sneered. People had no respect for servants in those days,
she declared. We’ll be lucky if there’s indoor plumbing.
I’m going back to New York,
I said.
My father, who is brave in such situations, said, Come on. We might as well see if it’s as miserable on the inside as it is on the out.
Mom opened the door with the key that Mrs. Donnell had sent her. The door squeaked. The electricity should be on,
she said. Lydia said it would be.
Try a light switch,
Dad suggested.
Mom looked disgusted, but did as he said. The room was flooded with bright artificial light. It showed up all the spider webs and dust.
It’s awful,
Meg said. Meg is my twin sister. We are not identical. The word for non-identical twins is fraternal, but that means brotherly, and we are nowhere near that affectionate. The best we manage is tolerance, and that only because we live in cramped quarters and if we didn’t get along, it would be absolute hell. But for once I was in complete agreement with her. It was awful.
There’s a bathroom,
Mom said, looking around the place. And space for all of us, if we’re careful.
The piano’s okay,
I said. I always check the piano first.
Unusual architectural style,
my father said. Early monstrous.
This’ll be your room,
my mother said to Meg and me. The movers put all your stuff in here, and who are we to argue?
Meg and I looked at the room. It was bigger than our room in the city and overlooked what used to be a garden. Our old room had overlooked a brick wall. I missed the old view.
Not much closet space,
Meg said, but she was just talking to hear something said. We don’t need much closet space.
The kitchen’s pretty nice,
Dad said. There’s an icebox and everything.
You’re kidding,
Mom said, and ran for the kitchen. He’s kidding,
she called to us. There’s a refrigerator of sorts.
I think I’m going to cry,
I said.
I don’t see what you’re complaining about,
Meg said. You’ll be out of here before the rest of us.
This move is harder on me than you,
I said.
Oh, shut up,
my mother said. There’s nothing duller than listening to other people suffer. Think of this as an adventure.
I hate adventures,
I grumbled. Meg giggled.
I think I hear something,
Dad said. The lord of the manor come to visit with the serfs.
Lords of the manor never rode on motorcycles in my day,
Mom said, as the motorcycle pulled to a stop in front of the gatehouse.
Chariots aren’t popular anymore, dear,
Dad said, and opened the door.
Oh, hello,
the guy said, looking startled. I guess he thought he’d have to knock or something. Aunt Lydia thought she heard you come, so she sent me to see.
You must be Paul,
Mom said. Come in, if you don’t mind the dust.
Thank you,
Paul said. He was tall and very thin and dark. Aunt Lydia told me to invite you to dinner.
That’s nice of Lydia,
Mom said. We’re not really dressed for anything elaborate, though.
It won’t be fancy,
Paul assured her. Just the family.
What would we have for supper?
Dad asked Mom.
Cold spaghetti and warm champagne,
she replied.
Tell Aunt Lydia we’d be delighted to join her for dinner,
Dad said.
Paul smiled. Do you know how to get to the house?
he asked.
Just follow the yellow brick road,
Mom said. Now go, and let us get some unpacking done.
Okay,
Paul said, and then remembered his manners. Is there anything I can do to help?
Just thank Lydia for us,
she said. We’ll be down in a little while.
Okay,
Paul repeated, and left.
I looked at Meg. There might be advantages to living here after all,
she said.
Great,
Dad said. Now we have a Cinderella on our hands. Okay, Daffy, get going if you want to make it to the ball tonight.
I’ve told you not to call me Daffy,
Meg grumbled, but went to our room. I followed her in, and we began to dust and sweep and move things around and do all the dull stuff required by unpacking.
There turned out to be no yellow brick road to follow. There was, however, a dirt road which we followed instead. It led, after a little bit, to a huge white house, surrounded by trees and flowers and lots and lots of lawn.
‘I dreamed last night I returned to Manderlay,’
Mom said.
Nonsense,
Dad said. This is the outhouse. Placed at a discreet distance so as not to offend the aristocrats.
Now don’t feel defensive,
Mom said, quite unnecessarily since we all felt defensive and there was nothing we could do about it.
What do we do if there’s a butler?
I asked, as we trudged our way through a mile’s worth of lawn. At least that’s what it felt like.
Act like you know what you’re doing,
Mom replied. I read someplace that a butler will leave you alone if you don’t act scared.
You can’t fool a butler,
Dad said, as we got to the door. Butlers are the last true judges of social class.
We stood by the door for a moment, waiting for it to open without our help. My stomach hurts,
I said.
We can still go back to New York,
Dad said, looking hopefully at Mom.
This is ridiculous,
Mom said. After all, it’s just old dumb Lydia.
She rang the bell.
We could hear chimes and a sound of shuffling feet. We should have used the servants’ entrance,
my father was muttering, when someone opened the door. It looked like a maid.
Uh, is Mrs. Donnell in?
Mom asked.
Mrs. Reisman?
the maid asked.
Yes,
Mom answered. The whole Reisman family.
Please come in,
the maid said. Mrs. Donnell is expecting you.
Well, that’s something,
Dad muttered. Mom kicked him gently on the ankle.
Please wait a moment,
the maid said. I’ll tell Mrs. Donnell that you’re here.
That won’t be necessary, Ann,
a woman said, and came into the hall where we were standing. Jenny, it’s marvelous to see you again.
She offered her cheek to be kissed.
My mother rose to the occasion and kissed it. Lydia,
she said. Wealth becomes you.
Mrs. Donnell giggled. It was a very high-pitched giggle, quite uncouth. Oh, Jenny,
she said, you still haven’t grown up.
Mom looked at her for a second, then roared with laughter. After that, they hugged and looked very happy and ordinary.
Carl?
Mrs. Donnell asked, indicating Dad, who nodded. It’s great meeting you after all these years.
Dad said something about being pleased too, but he didn’t look it. Dad’s a socialist, and he never looks comfortable with rich people. Not that he knows that many to be uncomfortable with.
And these must be the twins,
she said, turning her attention to us.
So they must,
Mom said. The tall one is Betsy, and the one hiding in the corner is Meg. Maybe if we coax them, they’ll say hello for us.
Hello,
Meg said. I smiled politely, in no mood to be coaxed.
They’re lovely,
Mrs. Donnell said. You must be very proud of them.
We are,
Dad said. But not because they’re lovely.
Mrs. Donnell looked at him peculiarly. Girls,
she said, why don’t you join the others in the living room? Over there. The kids are dying to meet you.
Meg and I said something polite and went. There, in the living room, were the Donnell family children. Except for Paul, they looked moderately resentful.
Hello,
Meg said. Meg always manages social situations better than I do. I’m Meg, and this is Betsy.
Hello again,
Paul said. How was the unpacking?
Awful,
Meg said. Unpacking always is.
May I try the piano?
I asked, seeing it in the corner. It was a beauty, a baby grand.
Sure,
a guy in an overstuffed white chair said.
Oh,
Paul said. That’s Greg Donnell over there, and standing by the window looking dramatic is his sister Eunice, and the one reclining on the sofa is their mutual sister Alys. Do you have that straight?
I think so,
Meg said, and offered them one of her dazzling smiles. Actually, Meg is lovely. She looks like a Botticelli goddess which, fortunately for her, is a popular look these days. Long wavy golden hair, wide forehead, large pale blue eyes, a nose that’s long but not too long, and a mouth perfectly capable of dazzling smiles. All set in a pale rose complexion. I am not lovely, although I look a bit like Meg. Everything on me is bigger, though. I’m not fat, just solid, and I wear my hair very short and curly. My arms and fingers are long, which is useful for the piano. I get a lot of power into my playing. Meg