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Authors: Kathleen Gilles Seidel
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here after rehearsal? We’ve got time to get a movie before they would get here, and then we could call for a pizza.”
“No.” Her tone suggested that my helpful-mother cap was a black ski mask.
“Well, honey, why not?” I chirped. “Isn’t that better than just sitting here?”
“They’re all going to Faith’s after the rehearsal. They’re spending the night with her.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t meant anything by that “oh.” I was surprised, that was all, but clearly Erin assumed that I had meant something, and of course, whatever I meant was the Wrong Thing.
“Faith and I don’t know each other,” she snapped. “We don’t have any classes together. Why would she have invited me?”
She was right, of course she was. And Faith’s mother probably only had enough seat belts for four girls. Even if she had more, she would have taken other girls from the ensemble, not Erin.
But still Erin had been left out; she had been excluded. Her friends were all at a sleepover to which she had not been invited.
Oh, did I know that feeling, the feeling of having not been invited. That’s what my life had been like at her age.
Erin is quiet at school. She is like her dad, reserved and observant. But when she is with her friends, she gets carried away; she squeals and chatters with giddy exuberance. They all do. Their voices are high-pitched, and they talk reallyreallyfast, and their braces slur their speech. Adults can barely understand them, which is fine because they aren’t speaking to us.
Today, however, Erin was silent and sullen.
I wanted to know more. Was this just a one-time thing, or did we have a problem? At lunch who was sitting with whom? And in the halls, who was speaking to whom? But there was no way that she was going to tell me. I could ask pleasantly, I could badger endlessly, I could withhold food, she was not going to tell me. I thought I could help if I knew more, but she didn’t think so, and whether or not she had the right to remain silent, she certainly had the power to do so.
I expected one of my friends to say something. We were all at the girls’ soccer game the next afternoon, and I waited for one of them to mention the previous evening’s activities.
It was so odd not to have Erin in the car this morning. … Did Erin mind not being invited? … Never occurred to me that Erin wouldn’t be there. …
Or even if they didn’t express regret at Erin’s not being invited, I would have expected whoever had picked up the girls on Saturday morning to have described Mary Paige’s house to the rest of us.
But the sleepover at Faith’s house seemed to be a taboo subject. That was odd. It was if the lighthouse had suddenly gone dim.
The following Friday Brittany was having a sleepover with the four girls from the ensemble, and this time, of course, Erin was invited—Blair wouldn’t have allowed Brittany not to invite Erin. Blair picked up the four ensemble girls after rehearsal, but since she drove a sedan with five seat belts, she didn’t have room for Erin. The seat belt that had always been Erin’s was now Faith’s. Even though the Bransons lived only four blocks from us and so Erin often walked over there, I drove her. I sensed that she felt odd about coming separately from the other girls, and I thought that my magical mother-presence would help her feel better.
If it did, she hid it well.
Jamie thought that he had a good chance of getting some key evidence excluded early and so—fun guy that he was—he worked that Friday evening. One of Thomas’s friends came over. Both boys were yummy little things, serious, sweet, and extremely interested in all things violent and destructive.
After Thomas’s soccer game Saturday morning I picked up Rachel and Erin at Blair’s house. The girls hardly spoke to each other. I couldn’t tell if they were fighting or if they just hadn’t had enough sleep. Erin spent the rest of the day on the sofa, watching the Disney Channel until it
“No.” Her tone suggested that my helpful-mother cap was a black ski mask.
“Well, honey, why not?” I chirped. “Isn’t that better than just sitting here?”
“They’re all going to Faith’s after the rehearsal. They’re spending the night with her.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t meant anything by that “oh.” I was surprised, that was all, but clearly Erin assumed that I had meant something, and of course, whatever I meant was the Wrong Thing.
“Faith and I don’t know each other,” she snapped. “We don’t have any classes together. Why would she have invited me?”
She was right, of course she was. And Faith’s mother probably only had enough seat belts for four girls. Even if she had more, she would have taken other girls from the ensemble, not Erin.
But still Erin had been left out; she had been excluded. Her friends were all at a sleepover to which she had not been invited.
Oh, did I know that feeling, the feeling of having not been invited. That’s what my life had been like at her age.
Erin is quiet at school. She is like her dad, reserved and observant. But when she is with her friends, she gets carried away; she squeals and chatters with giddy exuberance. They all do. Their voices are high-pitched, and they talk reallyreallyfast, and their braces slur their speech. Adults can barely understand them, which is fine because they aren’t speaking to us.
Today, however, Erin was silent and sullen.
I wanted to know more. Was this just a one-time thing, or did we have a problem? At lunch who was sitting with whom? And in the halls, who was speaking to whom? But there was no way that she was going to tell me. I could ask pleasantly, I could badger endlessly, I could withhold food, she was not going to tell me. I thought I could help if I knew more, but she didn’t think so, and whether or not she had the right to remain silent, she certainly had the power to do so.
I expected one of my friends to say something. We were all at the girls’ soccer game the next afternoon, and I waited for one of them to mention the previous evening’s activities.
It was so odd not to have Erin in the car this morning. … Did Erin mind not being invited? … Never occurred to me that Erin wouldn’t be there. …
Or even if they didn’t express regret at Erin’s not being invited, I would have expected whoever had picked up the girls on Saturday morning to have described Mary Paige’s house to the rest of us.
But the sleepover at Faith’s house seemed to be a taboo subject. That was odd. It was if the lighthouse had suddenly gone dim.
The following Friday Brittany was having a sleepover with the four girls from the ensemble, and this time, of course, Erin was invited—Blair wouldn’t have allowed Brittany not to invite Erin. Blair picked up the four ensemble girls after rehearsal, but since she drove a sedan with five seat belts, she didn’t have room for Erin. The seat belt that had always been Erin’s was now Faith’s. Even though the Bransons lived only four blocks from us and so Erin often walked over there, I drove her. I sensed that she felt odd about coming separately from the other girls, and I thought that my magical mother-presence would help her feel better.
If it did, she hid it well.
Jamie thought that he had a good chance of getting some key evidence excluded early and so—fun guy that he was—he worked that Friday evening. One of Thomas’s friends came over. Both boys were yummy little things, serious, sweet, and extremely interested in all things violent and destructive.
After Thomas’s soccer game Saturday morning I picked up Rachel and Erin at Blair’s house. The girls hardly spoke to each other. I couldn’t tell if they were fighting or if they just hadn’t had enough sleep. Erin spent the rest of the day on the sofa, watching the Disney Channel until it
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