"Cooney, Caroline B - Janie Johnson 02 - Whatever Happened to Janie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cooney Caroline B)

What is it like to be a foster child? thought Janie. And have new families all the time?
She could not find a safe place to look. There were so many staring eyes In this big family. She refused to let herself start at a new school with tears running down her cheeks. She hung on to her thoughts and was painfully grateful to be handed a notebook to hold also. J E N N I E, it said in big white letters embossed on the slick blue front.
These people were in love with their own names. So far they had given her not only a mug emblazoned J EN N I E. but also a juice glass, a spoon. and
a dozen pencils. Even her pale blue pillowcase was embroidered in lacy, loopy white script, J E N N I E.
I'm Janie. Janie, Janie, Janie.
She held the notebook upside down so she would not have to look at the lettering. She forced herself to look at Mrs. Spring. Chunky and going gray, Mrs. Spring was not interested in clothing. She bad yanked on a skirt and blouse that didn't quite match and a sweater that didn't quite hang right. She wore a utility watch with a plain black strap.
Janle and her mother both had Swatch collections, and liked to choose a watch for the day that matched earrings and other accessories.
Jodie had helped pick out clothes for the first day of school that would be just like what the rest of the New Jersey kids wore. She was amazed at the size of Janie's wardrobe. 'There's nothing you don't have," Jodie said, fingering the thirty Swatches and the growing tower of sweaters. Jodie had graciously cleared drawers and hangers, but the space did not hold a fraction of Janie's possessions. The girls looked at each other uneasily and Janie was embarrassed by the collection that only a few weeks ago she had thought was skimpy and needed replenishing. "I guess we'll just shove the rest of this under the beds or something."
'They're rich, aren't they?" said Jodie.
Jodie meant her parents. Should Janie say- Yes, my parents are rich-in which case she would be told-They aren't your parents? Should she say
-Well, not rich in comparison to Reeve's family;
Reeve's family is really rich. Then she'd have to explain Reeve.
Reeve.
There would be no boy next door to give her rides to school. No boy to swagger down the hail with his arm around her, boasting with his walk that he dated this girl. There would be no grin across the cafeteria, no snack sharing at Janie's after school, no phone call at night.
Three months before I can talk to Reeve again, thought Janie. I can't believe we agreed to three months of silence!
She forgot to answer Jodle's question about the Johnsons' money.
'Time to go," said Jodie in a funny voice.
Janie took a quick look in the long mirror fastened to the back of Jodie's bedroom door. Firstdayofschool horrors hit the pit of her stomach. She could never tell, on the first day of school, whether she was attractive and likable, or geeky and pathetic, doomed to be ignored and taunted.
"You look great," said Jodie eagerly. "You look just like a Spring."
Janle did not want to look like a Spring. She
wanted to look like a Johnson. Reflected in the truth of the mirror, with Jodie's pixie face behind her, Janie knew once and for all there had been no error. She was a Spring.
"I'll stay with you as long as I can," said Jodle, "but you're In a different grade. You'll have different classes. But each teacher has assigned you a buddy. You won't ever have to go anywhere alone."
Janie nodded.
Mrs. Spring drove them, so Janie didn't have to face the bus yet. When the girls got out of the car, she said, like a mother, "Be brave, honey. It'll be a long day, but each day will be easier." Jodie gave her mother a goodbye kiss, but Janie got out of the car quickly and faced the next torture.
It was a generic high school. Vanillapainted cement block. Blackandgrayspeckled vinyl floors. Fluorescent strip lighting. Art projects trying to lighten the place up.
She tried to blend in. She tried to be anonymous, the way new kids were supposed to be. But they knew her. It was equal parts romantic and hideous. The other students were fascinated and yet repelled, as if her kidnapped state might be infectious. I don't have to worry about being ignored, she thought ruefully.
A sort of home video played in Janie's mind. She saw not the new faces around her, but the old ones she should have been with on a Monday. Her
real parents, friends, teachers, and neighbors surrounded her in a cloud of loss.
Miranda Johnson would be getting ready for her day at the hospital. Although volunteers wore repulsive salmonpink jackets, Janie's mother nevertheless dressed beautifully. She had an entire wardrobe that would look terrific with that ugly halfred. Janie imagined her mother, going through her silent routines, in her silent house, heading for the hospital.
But what if her mother could not pick up the routines? What if she just sat home, frozen in an empty house? Oh Mommy! Please be all right!
General Chorus was on Janie's new schedule. They'd been able to duplicate all her Connecticut subjects except one: silversmithlng. Janie was not artistic and had never succeeded at any craft from crossstitch to cake decorating, but she had always wanted to make her own jewelry.
General Chorus instead. Wonderful.
Janie could not sing. She had roughly a fournote range, considerably lower than female voices ought to be. The choir director back home used to yell at the altos, "Somebody get out of the basement!" The somebody was Janie, and she could not get her voice out of the basement. Although she loved music and wished passionately for a voice, she had dropped chorus years ago.
Knowing what her voice would do to the harmony, Janie did not even attempt to sing. It was nice to have a black music folder though. It was nice to be In a room of eighty kids whose attention was on somebody else-the conductor.
Miss P was very funny. She picked on everybody, all the time, but it was not cruel and nobody's feelings were hurt. Even Janie, who knew nobody and shared no injokes, found herself laughing. It was such a treat to laugh out loud. At her Connecticut school, boys rarely joined the choir, because they were so afraid of becoming Chorus Geeks. This
had a different atmosphere: the best boys were here
-jocks, studs, and scholars. All of them in love with Miss P.
Miss P dragged a very nervous young man to the front of the room. He wore a suit, but it looked
like somebody else's, or as if somebody else had dressed him for the day. Janie knew the feeling,
"Hey, guys!" shouted Miss P.
"Miss P!" they shouted back.
"I brought you a new victim," said Miss P. "A student teacher."
"All right!" shouted the boys. "Fair game!"
The young man struggled to look brave and competent. He lost.
"Mr. Clarke," said Miss P. swinging her arms in the direction of the chorus, "welcome to the land that normalcy forgot."
The bass section sprang into wrestling poses, proud of living In the land that normalcy forgot.
Janie could breathe a little better. The boys in the bass section reminded her of Reeve. You could fail in love with one of them. She smiled at Miss P. She smiled at Mr. Clarke, who was so afraid he could hardly lift his arms to direct, I can't lift my arms to hug, she thought. I've got to learn in public, too. Good luck, Mr. Clarke!
Janie's seatmate was an alto named Chrissy, who had been assigned to her. Chrissy was long and lean and reminded Janie of Reeve's annoying older sister Lizzie. Even though Janie had detested Lizzie all her life, she found herself homesick for her.
"You need to check yourself off on the attendance sheet," said Chrissy softly. She pointed toward four large oaktag posters-Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass-one name to a line.
"I'm not on it," Janie whispered back. "I looked when I came in."