Mistaken Identity

After last bell, Veronica went outside half expecting Sylvie not to be there. But Sylvie was by the front door, waiting.

“I thought we would go get the plants first,” Sylvie said. She was standing in a sun patch acting perfectly normal, like doing time with Veronica Louise Weirdo Morgan was no big deal.

Veronica followed Sylvie down Madison Avenue like a dog on a long leash, while the other Randolf girls hung around outside the building catching the first warm rays of sun. In a million years, Veronica would not have predicted she would ever be following Sylvie Samuels home.

They walked over to Lexington, and two blocks from Paws and Claws, Sylvie led them into a plant store. Veronica hung back, trying to figure out how she could run down and say hello. But then she remembered there would never be a reason to go to Paws and Claws again.

“Hello, ladies, what I can do you for?” a small old man in a gray smock said. His thinning hair was slicked back. He leaned to one side and Veronica wagered if she looked, she would find that he had a hump on his back. His resemblance to the laboratory assistant of Dr. Frankenstein was uncanny.

“We would like to buy two plants, please,” Sylvie said. “Two of the same of any type of plant, as long as they are similar in size and health and appearance.”

“One for you and one for your sister. Is that the idea?” the man asked.

“No,” Sylvie said.

“No?” said the man.

“No, we aren’t sisters. Although we do need two plants. We’re using them for a science experiment so it is important that the two plants resemble each other as much as possible.”

“Come on,” he said, “you’re pulling my leg. She’s pulling my leg, right? You look exactly the same. You’re not identical twins?”

He stepped back and gave Veronica and Sylvie the once-over. Then, as though an amazing thought occurred to him, he declared, “You’re even wearing the same clothes!”

Obviously he had never heard of school uniforms before.

“I can assure you,” Sylvie said in a very adult manner, which Veronica couldn’t help but be impressed by, “we are not sisters.”

Veronica paid for her African violet with a sweaty twenty-dollar bill her parents had given her that morning as recompense for the lousy mess they’d made of her life while Mary was away. She stuffed the change in the front pocket of her backpack.