Annabel had never gone in for the fad of caring for the homeless, although Alice said there was a great deal to learn from them in the way of resourcefulness. They would come into Green Palms, the local nursing home, at lunchtime and pretend to be visitors helping their loved ones eat lunch and instead would eat the lunch themselves. The poor old souls would think they’d had their nourishment anyway. Could one be
too
resourceful? Annabel wondered. But this woman wasn’t carrying cardboard. Didn’t they always have cardboard with them? There wasn’t a scrap of cardboard in sight.
The woman abruptly stopped and turned in Annabel’s direction. Annabel quickly retreated, hurrying back to the succession of maddening courtyards. She found Alice sitting by a coyote sculpture, holding a bunch of weeds. A plaque explained that the sculpture had been made by Samantha Melby, class of 1997, from materials found in a nontoxic landfill. It was awfully good for someone their age, Annabel thought. This girl had a future.
“Do you know Samantha Melby?” she asked.
“Are you kidding?” Alice said. Samantha Melby had been voted by her classmates Most Likely to Succeed, whereas Alice had been nominated as most likely to be in charge of collecting bird carcasses on the shores of the Salton Sea.
Upon further inspection, Annabel saw that several condoms were stuck to the coyote’s thrown-back head. The poor artist. Poor Samantha Melby. That was the problem with public art, it risked great ridicule.
“What are those?” she asked Alice, pointing at the weeds.
“I’m taking them back to look them up in my weed book.”
Annabel smiled glassily at her. Sometimes Alice was like a child. She acted like a child and spoke like a child, and one could treat her as affably and falsely as a child.
“I like herbs,” Annabel said. Her father had started an herb garden with the help of his new yard boy, Donald. Herbs weren’t messy; they were contained in sunny little pots.
“They’re okay,” Alice granted. “There was that herb that Odysseus took to protect him from Circe’s magic. It saved him from her enchantments while everybody else got turned into swine.”
Annabel felt her brow wrinkling. “God, Alice, that was so long ago. It didn’t even happen anyway, did it?”
Alice mused over her weeds, which had wilted dramatically in her hand.
“Is this school hard?” Annabel said. “I certainly hope not.”
Alice shrugged.
“I hate Cs,” Annabel said. “They practically make me nauseous.”
“They don’t grade here.”
What a sensible grading policy! Annabel now sat quite contentedly in the uncomfortable sun, no longer feeling uneasy about the cats or the disquieting pregnant woman or her intentions to ditch Alice once school began. Her heart opened to Alice and to the simple justice of things, life’s rightness, its essential fairness. Things just
were
. Or could
be
. “You’re kidding!” she said delightedly.
“Yes,” Alice said.
Annabel wanted to make Alice cry, just once. That was her goal, to bring tears to her eyes on some subject. Then she’d say, “I didn’t mean it,” and console her to the extent possible.
“You should have seen your tail drop!” Alice said.
“ ‘You should have seen your tail drop.’ I hate it when you say things like that. You sound retarded. Or like somebody’s grandmother.”
“My granny met my grandpa ‘at the fair.’ Do you know what that means? It means it was love at first sight.”
The woman in the red dress entered their courtyard. She stood with her hands on her stomach and peered at the girls.
“Uh-oh,” Alice said.
“What’s the matter with you?” Annabel hissed. “Birth. There’s nothing wrong with birth.”
The woman came up to them. She was really not much older than they were. Her hair was a mazy mass of dark curls, and she had bright blank eyes. “Would you like to feel my tummy?” she asked Annabel.
“Oh no, thank you,” Annabel
too
resourceful? Annabel wondered. But this woman wasn’t carrying cardboard. Didn’t they always have cardboard with them? There wasn’t a scrap of cardboard in sight.
The woman abruptly stopped and turned in Annabel’s direction. Annabel quickly retreated, hurrying back to the succession of maddening courtyards. She found Alice sitting by a coyote sculpture, holding a bunch of weeds. A plaque explained that the sculpture had been made by Samantha Melby, class of 1997, from materials found in a nontoxic landfill. It was awfully good for someone their age, Annabel thought. This girl had a future.
“Do you know Samantha Melby?” she asked.
“Are you kidding?” Alice said. Samantha Melby had been voted by her classmates Most Likely to Succeed, whereas Alice had been nominated as most likely to be in charge of collecting bird carcasses on the shores of the Salton Sea.
Upon further inspection, Annabel saw that several condoms were stuck to the coyote’s thrown-back head. The poor artist. Poor Samantha Melby. That was the problem with public art, it risked great ridicule.
“What are those?” she asked Alice, pointing at the weeds.
“I’m taking them back to look them up in my weed book.”
Annabel smiled glassily at her. Sometimes Alice was like a child. She acted like a child and spoke like a child, and one could treat her as affably and falsely as a child.
“I like herbs,” Annabel said. Her father had started an herb garden with the help of his new yard boy, Donald. Herbs weren’t messy; they were contained in sunny little pots.
“They’re okay,” Alice granted. “There was that herb that Odysseus took to protect him from Circe’s magic. It saved him from her enchantments while everybody else got turned into swine.”
Annabel felt her brow wrinkling. “God, Alice, that was so long ago. It didn’t even happen anyway, did it?”
Alice mused over her weeds, which had wilted dramatically in her hand.
“Is this school hard?” Annabel said. “I certainly hope not.”
Alice shrugged.
“I hate Cs,” Annabel said. “They practically make me nauseous.”
“They don’t grade here.”
What a sensible grading policy! Annabel now sat quite contentedly in the uncomfortable sun, no longer feeling uneasy about the cats or the disquieting pregnant woman or her intentions to ditch Alice once school began. Her heart opened to Alice and to the simple justice of things, life’s rightness, its essential fairness. Things just
were
. Or could
be
. “You’re kidding!” she said delightedly.
“Yes,” Alice said.
Annabel wanted to make Alice cry, just once. That was her goal, to bring tears to her eyes on some subject. Then she’d say, “I didn’t mean it,” and console her to the extent possible.
“You should have seen your tail drop!” Alice said.
“ ‘You should have seen your tail drop.’ I hate it when you say things like that. You sound retarded. Or like somebody’s grandmother.”
“My granny met my grandpa ‘at the fair.’ Do you know what that means? It means it was love at first sight.”
The woman in the red dress entered their courtyard. She stood with her hands on her stomach and peered at the girls.
“Uh-oh,” Alice said.
“What’s the matter with you?” Annabel hissed. “Birth. There’s nothing wrong with birth.”
The woman came up to them. She was really not much older than they were. Her hair was a mazy mass of dark curls, and she had bright blank eyes. “Would you like to feel my tummy?” she asked Annabel.
“Oh no, thank you,” Annabel
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