Leaving Home Page 3

  Winston's mouth dropped open.

  "Egbert! That's you!" Bruce yelled, jumping to his feet and snatching the ticket from Winston's hand. "God, he's really done it!" he cried to the rest of the room. "I can't believe it. The odds must've been about a million to one!"

  Within seconds the entire room was in turmoil. Mr. and Mrs. Egbert looked stunned. Lila and Jessica were squealing and trying to get a look at the ticket. Maria was pale, her brown eyes wide, staring at Winston as if he were someone she had never seen before. Regina and Bruce hugged each other, then Winston, then each other again. Roger and Olivia were cheering loudly, and Nicholas kept slapping Winston on the back. Then Mr. Egbert flew into action racing to the phone to call the lottery number.

  "I—I just can't believe it," Winston choked out, shocked. "I think—I don't know—you have to be eighteen to win. Dad, will you—"

  But he never finished the sentence. Everyone was talking at once. Jessica wanted to know what he was going to do with the money. Lila was hugging Winston and acting as though she'd known he was going to win all along. Elizabeth and Jeffrey kept shaking their heads in disbelief, and Winston just stood absolutely still as if the whole thing were happening to someone else.

  "I've got them on the phone!" Mr. Egbert exclaimed.

  "Just a second—I've got to—ah, I've got to . . ." Winston's voice trailed off as he hurried out of the room. He needed to be alone, just to catch his breath. Just until he could sort out exactly what was going on.

  He stared at his parents' familiar kitchen in total disbelief. That was it—965811. A winning ticket that suddenly represented twenty-five thousand dollars—more money than Winston had ever dreamed of in his entire life.

  He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it had happened. Suddenly he felt dizzy. He didn't know what he felt.

  He had the winning ticket, all right. The only thing was, it wasn't his. Nobody knew that except Winston. And the question was, what on earth was he supposed to do now?

  Four

  "I can't believe it," Elizabeth said, taking the manila envelope out of the mailbox with trembling fingers. "It's come, Jessica—the material from the Interlochen School!"

  The twins had just gotten home from school the next day, and as usual the very first thing Elizabeth had done was to rush for the mailbox. But that time her search wasn't in vain! She could barely believe it as she stared down at the large envelope, scrutinizing the foreign stamps. "Look how thick it is!" she exclaimed to Jessica. "They wouldn't send a letter saying I'm too late to apply in an envelope this size, would they?"

  "Who knows?" Jessica said, looking gloomy. She hung over her sister's shoulder, examining the package. "Look at all those stamps," she said. "It looks like they sent it from Mars!"

  "Come on," Elizabeth said eagerly. "Let's go inside and see what it says."

  Ten minutes later the Wakefields' kitchen table was completely covered with brochures, applications, catalogs—all the material describing the Interlochen School. But the one piece of paper Elizabeth was concentrating on was the cover letter form Mr. Hummel, the headmaster.

  "I can't believe how perfect this sounds," she murmured. "Jess, they actually have scholarships for the creative-writing program! Listen—'The Margaret Sterne Memorial Prize for creative writing is presented in memory of Margaret Sterne, who was from California and studied at the Interlochen School in the nineteen-fifties. It is to be given to an eligible student for a full year of study in the English department. Included are three months of intensive writing workshops in the summer and nine months of combined creative writing and academic work in the senior year.' "

  "I wonder who Margaret Sterne was," Jessica said darkly, pouring herself a glass of Diet Coke. "She was probably some poor girl who abandoned her family and came to a horrible end in the Alps somewhere."

  Elizabeth frowned at her. "You happen to be wrong," she informed her sister. "Margaret Sterne was a talented young writer who died prematurely of a terminal illness. It says right here that the Sterne family set up these scholarships in her name." Her eyes flicked over the tiny print describing the scholarship: "Applicants should have a demonstrated ability for creative writing. They must be female, between the ages of fifteen and seventeen and must be from California. They must show a commitment to scholarship and academic excellence, as well as embody the traits Margaret Sterne was known for: courage, persistence, dedication, and an involvement in community affairs."

  "Gag," Jessica said, getting up to look in the cupboards. "No wonder this girl didn't make it to maturity. She sounds like she was more of a saint than a human being."

  "Come on, Jess. I think the Sterne family has done a wonderful thing setting up this scholarship fund in her memory," Elizabeth defended. "Anyway, it's sure worth applying for!"

  "That is, if you happen to embody courage, persistence, dedication, and be involved in community affairs," Jessica reminded her.

  Elizabeth blushed. "So you think I shouldn't even try?" she asked.

  Jessica sighed. "Of course you should!" she relented. "What worries me, Liz, is that you're absolutely perfect. I can't think of a better candidate. Which means they're going to interview you, find out that you're even saintlier than this Margaret Sterne was, and whisk you away to Geneva." She looked really upset as she opened a package of Oreos. "And that'll be it, no more twin. The next time I see you, you'll have fallen in love with some shepherd or a yodeler or whatever, and you'll decide to live in Switzerland for the rest of your life."

  Elizabeth ignored the prophecy. "Mr. Hummel says I have time to make the deadline for the creative-writing program," she said thoughtfully. "I'll need to have my records and transcripts sent to the Interlochen School as soon as possible, along with three letters of recommendation." She frowned. "I can ask Mr. Collins, of course." Mr. Collins, one of the most popular teachers at school, was the faculty advisor to The Oracle and taught English as well. She knew he would give her a strong recommendation. "But who else? Do you think I should ask Ms. Dalton? I like French, and that way they'll know I have some language skills."

  "I'm sure half the faculty at school will be fighting to write you letters," Jessica said morosely, twisting the top off her Oreo and glaring down at it. "I can just imagine the letters now. They'll all go on and on about the work you've done demonstrating leadership—like the time you helped organize the carnival for the handicapped kids with Mrs. Morrow. Or the way you helped set up the foreign-language festival—And all the stuff you've done on The Oracle." She sighed. "It's hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

  Elizabeth scanned the letter again. "I also have to send three writing samples," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose I can send one of the pieces I've written for The Oracle. And maybe I can send that play I wrote about Elizabeth Barrett Browning—do you think that would be good enough?"

  "Yes," Jessica said, popping the cookie in her mouth. "That's the whole problem, Lizzie. Everything you write is good enough."

  "Mr. Collins might help me revise the short story I've been working on. That should do it for the writing part." Elizabeth opened the application package, her brow wrinkling as she glanced down at it. "What worries me is this thing about the home interview. Listen to this.

  "In keeping with the highly personal nature of this scholarship, each candidate shall be interviewed both by a local representative—an alumnus from the Interlochen School—and by a member of the Sterne family to determine whether the applicant truly exhibits the characteristics required by the fellowship."

  "So what?" Jessica said, reaching into the bag for another Oreo. "Tell me they're not just going to adore you, Liz. I mean, what are you afraid of? Your criminal record? Your terrible behavior in school?" She shook her head. "You're only totally perfect, that's all. No wonder you're worried about being interviewed."

  "I'm supposed to call Patrick Sterne in San Diego," Elizabeth continued, taking out the small note appended to her application file. "He's the executor of the Sterne Fund. And he'll start the interviewing process right away." She looked up at Jessica, her eyes bright. "Jess, this is really happening! I can't believe it!"

  "You're not the only one," Jessica said. "I just can't see why you're so happy about it. What's wrong, Liz? Are we all so horrible you can't stand the thought of living with us for another second?"

  Elizabeth didn't answer. She was so wrapped up in the description of the writing program at the Interlochen School that she hadn't heard what her twin had said.

  "Steve, we've got an emergency," Jessica said grimly. She was on the phone upstairs in her room, the door shut so no one could hear. Not that anyone in her family would ever walk into Jessica's room without what Mr. Wakefield called a "passport to chaos." Jessica liked her room, which she had painted chocolate brown, and which her family had nicknamed the "Hershey Bar." At the moment the better part of Jessica's wardrobe was strewn over her desk chair and the end of her bed, and it had taken her several minutes to find the phone. But that, as far as Jessica was concerned, was what a bedroom was for.

  "What do you mean, 'emergency'?" Steven asked, alarmed. "This isn't like the last 'emergency,' is it, Jess?"

  A few weeks earlier Jessica had called Steven home when she and Elizabeth had been convinced that Mrs. Wakefield was pregnant. The "emergency" had proven to be a false alarm, however, and now Steven was obviously on guard.

  "No, Steven, this time it's really serious. It's Liz. She just got a pile of stuff from this man in Switzerland—Himmel or Hammel or whatever his name is. And it looks like there's a scholarship she was just made for. All expenses are paid for a year, and the applicants have to be ace writers and all-time perfect people. Just like Liz."

  Steven cleared his throat. "Uh-oh. Have Mom and Dad found out yet?"

  "They're downstairs talking to Liz about it right now," Jessica said. "They're going over all the application material together." She sounded stricken.

  "Wow," Steven said. "You're right, Jess. It sounds like a first-class emergency."

  "So what do we do?" Jessica wailed. "Steve, we can't let her go. There's no way I can make it around here without Liz. Besides," she added, worried Steven would accuse her of being selfish, "who knows what could happen to her over there? The whole thing sounds creepy to me. We'd never get to see her, and she'd probably get completely ruined by all those snobs in boarding school." She twisted the phone cord up in anguish. "I bet she'll come home speaking German or something! Or smoking those gross little cigarettes like they do in old movies. And dragging us all to things like the opera or something."

  "God forbid," Steven said, teasing her. "Jessica, you're the only person I know who makes culture sound like a fatal disease!"

  "Boarding school is for kids with nowhere else to go," Jessica said, gathering steam. "Not for someone like Liz with a family who loves her. Steve, we've got to convince her not to apply. Because the minute she sends them her writing and her grades and everything, they'll give her every scholarship they've got!"

  "You're right," Steven said thoughtfully. "But I don't think we should do anything drastic yet, Jess. Why don't we wait to hear what Mom and Dad have to say about the whole thing."

  "OK," Jessica said. "But I think you should start thinking about it, Steve. You know Mom and Dad. They'll probably say something crazy like 'It might be a good experience' or something."

  "Nah," Steven said, trying to assure her. "They'll never let her go. Trust me, Jess. Remember what happened when I wanted to leave school to join Bob Rose's cruise ship? They'll probably tell her she can't even apply."

  Jessica sighed. She hoped Steven was right, but she had a terrible feeling that he wasn't.

  Elizabeth pushed her hair back with one hand. The expression in her blue-green eyes was distraught. "I don't understand why no one else seems excited about this," she complained to her parents. "This is the best opportunity in the whole world! Can't you imagine how wonderful it would be for me to get a chance to experience a new culture? To improve my French and start to learn German? Not to mention the opportunity to study with Nadia DeMann. She's one of the best writing teachers in the world, and she's actually part of the program at the Interlochen School."

  Mrs. Wakefield looked upset. "We're just trying to understand why it's so important for you to go away next year, honey. It seems to me that college will come so quickly, anyway. Don't you want the chance to graduate with the rest of your class? And what about your friends here?"

  "We're only trying to think of things that you might have overlooked," Mr. Wakefield assured her, patting her hand. "It isn't that we're not excited for you, honey. The program sounds good, and I can't think of anyone better suited for this Margaret Sterne prize than you."

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. "But you still think it's crazy," she said unhappily. "You still think I'm wrong even to apply."

  The Wakefields exchanged uneasy glances. "We didn't say that, Liz," Mrs. Wakefield reminded her. "I think what we're saying is that we just want the chance to think about it a little bit more before we decide anything. Remember how concerned we were when Steven wanted to leave school to join his roommate on that cruise ship? We just want to be sure you aren't being impulsive, as he was."

  "That's right," Mr. Wakefield agreed. "We have a lot more talking and thinking to do before we can reach a decision as big as this one."

  "Maybe we could call the Interlochen School tomorrow, and you could talk to Mr. Hummel," Elizabeth suggested. "Do you think that might help settle things?" She couldn't bear to think that her parents were imagining her plans were as impetuous or half-baked as her brother's had been.

  "That's not such a bad idea," Mr. Wakefield said thoughtfully. "I can try to reach him tomorrow morning from the office. I should be able to get him at his home around dinnertime." Meanwhile, I think we all need to sleep on this. Remember, Liz, this is kind of a shock to us. We hadn't thought we'd be losing one of our little girls so soon."

  "Oh, Dad," Elizabeth said impatiently. "You wouldn't be losing me! And I'm not little, either," she added.

  Her parents smiled at each other as Elizabeth got up from the table where they had been talking. She had the distinct impression they thought she was little. She couldn't help wishing they were a bit more enthusiastic about the program.

  After all, the Margaret Sterne Memorial Prize had essentially turned a fantasy into a reality. She knew it would be very competitive, but it seemed as though she had a chance. A real chance.

  Why wasn't anyone else excited for her? Even Enid had been decidedly lukewarm when Elizabeth had called her before dinner. Elizabeth had told her all about the program, outlining the courses she would take, the prizes Nadia DeMann had won for her novels, and describing the breathtaking pictures of the chaletlike dormitories where she would live. "Enid, it's like something out of a fairy tale!" she had concluded, breathless with excitement.

  "It sounds terrific," Enid had said flatly. "Liz, did you understand the assignment we got today in chemistry? I had to leave early to go to the office, and Caroline Pearce couldn't really explain it to me."

  Elizabeth had understood then that the discussion about Switzerland was closed. And she couldn't help feeling a little bit hurt. Enid was supposed to be her best friend. Didn't that mean she ought to be as excited about the Interlochen School as Elizabeth was?

  Well, she thought as she started to climb the stairs, Enid wasn't the only one who seemed less than one hundred percent enthusiastic about her plans. Jessica was being impossible about the whole thing. And she could hardly say her parents had been exactly overjoyed.

  Thank heavens for Jeffrey, she thought, hurrying up the last stairs so she could call him and tell him the news. At least Jeffrey was behind her.

  Five

  "Winston! Winston!" Lila Fowler came hurrying up to Winston in the hall, her face animated. "I can't believe what a celebrity you've turned into," she cooed, slipping her arm through his. "Isn't it fun—reporters coming to school to interview you and everything?" She lowered her lashes suggestively. "I'm sure if they want to talk to any of your really close friends about you that I could always tell them a thing or two."

  Winston disentangled himself. He felt like asking Lila when they had become such good friends. But there was no point. Everyone was acting so different to him since the news had broken about his lottery ticket. Even his parents seemed to have flipped.

  He could barely believe it was only Thursday—just two days since he had picked up the wrong jacket in Drake's. Everything since then had been topsy-turvy. The minute he realized what had happened with the ticket, he felt as if he had stepped into somebody else's life—as if he had taken on a terrible weight. What was he going to do? It was all he could think about. And the worst thing was that nobody else knew what was happening inside him. His parents were overjoyed. When Mr. Egbert had called the lottery office, a woman named Robin Royce had congratulated them at length. Apparently, although minors couldn't buy tickets themselves, they could certainly win. Winston was the official winner! She said she would let the publicity people know at once; they in turn would notify the newspapers and television stations.

  The news was out: Winston Egbert had won the lottery!

  The next step, according to Ms. Royce, was for the Egberts to come to the main lottery office downtown and fill out a form. That form, along with the winning ticket, would be processed; a certain amount of money would be withheld for taxes and social security, and the rest of the money would be set up in trust for Winston, his parents acting as financial guardians. Mr. Egbert went right out to buy a bottle of champagne.

  Winston knew he had to tell his parents the truth, but they were so excited on Tuesday night that he just couldn't. And the longer he waited, the harder it became.

  By Wednesday the news had spread through school like wildfire. Every single person Winston saw in school slapped him on the back or shook his hand, demanding to know what it felt like to be a big winner. Everyone started teasing him about loans. By the end of the day people had even started to call him nicknames like "Big Win." His teachers treated him differently—even Maria seemed to be acting like a stranger. The whole thing was getting to him. It would be one thing if he could sit back and really enjoy his new status. But he just felt terrible. Sooner or later the old man would come forward, and then what?