Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black by Kelly McClymer Read Free Book Online Page A

but their grave eyes made my voice more serious. “Taking care of you, of course. I’m sure your dad thinks that’s more important than running a business, don’t you?” Okay, so I didn’t really think that, but I felt for the kids, especially if their dad’s new partner was going to end up being their new mother. Let them think they mattered to him. For a little while longer. From the smiles on their faces, it seemed my strategy worked.
    I decided to change the subject. “So, you guys are into computers, are you?” This may have been a complete under-statement given the four huge monitors that dominated one side of the room. The twins had already turned them on, and the room had an electronic hum going on. It was interesting that a father who banned television and radio still indulged this obsession. Or maybe computers were an interest they’d shared with their mother.
    “We do our research and studies on the Internet,” Rienne explained.
    “I’m surprised your dad lets computers in the house, if he bans TV.” I said it casually, as if I didn’t mind the lack of a television. Fortunately, summer was rerun season, so I wasn’t missing too much.
    “Computers are nothing like TV,” said Triste.
    Rienne argued, “They can be, but we don’t use our computers for mindless entertainment. We use them for education.”
    Education? Was I supposed to teach them during the day? I thought about what I could teach them, and came up with two things: how to make store-bought jeans look fashionable and how to write poetry. I’m a good poet, so my teachers say. But the thought of showing these two minipeople my poems was intimidating. They would argue about my word choice, my meter, my rhyme. Maybe not my subject matter—after all, they liked black as much as I did. Still, I’d rather not do a show-and-tell my first morning.
    Which left me wondering what exactly I was supposed to do. It was probably written somewhere in the binder, along with the daily schedule, but it seemed weird to open that in front of them and consult it. I considered asking them directly, but it didn’t seem very nannylike. I’d gotten into big trouble that way once while babysitting—I’d asked a kid what snacks his mom let him have. He’d told me peanut butter crackers. It wasn’t until after he started swelling up that he admitted he had an allergy and showed me the EpiPen.
    I tried a compromise question. “So, what are you working on right now?”
    They took me over to the computer and started talking about something they called “Camp CSI.” Apparently, it was an online camp that gave children a chance to do their own CSI-type experiments. Even though the twins didn’t watch TV, they understood investigative procedures and were fascinated by the camp.
    Rienne tapped a few keys and showed me their mission for today: take pictures of a butterfly and then figure out what kind of butterfly it is using the butterfly files in the “camp library.”
    Triste frowned. “It’s not the most challenging mission for us because of the butterfly garden.” She didn’t seem to like taking the easy way.
    Rienne shook her head. “The hard part isn’t taking a picture of the butterfly, Triste, it’s identifying it. That won’t be easy.”
    Triste nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. But let’s take a picture of a butterfly that’s really different from the rest, to make it a little bit harder.”
    Rienne shrugged. “Okay. If you want.”
    Watching them talk about their mission with such confidence, I let my attention wander to another computer and wondered if I could use it for e-mail. Sarah had said she’d check her e-mail. And so had Dad.
    I had just sat down to check my e-mail when an old-fashioned bong sounded from somewhere in the ceiling. I looked up. The twins didn’t move, so neither did I.
    When the bong sounded a second time, Triste sighed. “You’re being paged, Pippa.”
    “By the ceiling?” I looked