Brooke (Orphans 3)

"I had to get myself some new things to wear to the pageant," she told me when she paused in the hallway. "It's important-that I stay in fashion, too. They take pictures of the mothers and daughters."

"I have something to tell you," I said. I knew how important it had been to her that no one knew the truth about me. "The girls have found out about me. They know I'm a foster child in the process of being adopted?'

"What? How could that happen?"

"Heather Harper overheard her aunt talking to someone and told everyone," I said. "They're a bunch of snobs. I hate them. I hate that school, except for Coach Grossbard. Even the teachers are looking at me differently," I wailed.

She stared, furious. "Wait until I tell Peter. We'll sue her for being a gossip," she declared.

"What good will that do me?" I asked, but she didn't reply. She turned and charged back down the stairway. A little over an hour later, Peter came home. I heard their raised voices below and went down to find them in the den. Peter looked overwrought, his face flushed, his hair disheveled.

"There's no ground on which to sue anyone," he told me as soon as I entered.

"I don't want you to do that, Peter. It wouldn't help," I said.

"She's right, Pamela. Let's forget about it."

"I won't forget about it. That woman is going to get a piece of my mind. I'll speak to the trustees. She should be fired for doing this."

"It's over and done with," Peter said.

"I don't want to go there next year," I said.

Pamela looked up sharply. "What do you mean? Where would you go, a public school?" she asked, her lips twisted.

"I don't care. I hate those girls. And soon they're going to be even more jealous of me," I added.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?"

"I've been selected to be on the county's all-star team. I'm going to be the starting pitcher in the game," I told him

He beamed a wide grin. "Brooke, that's fantastic! I'm so proud of you!" He stood up and hugged me.

"What kind of an accomplishment is that?" Pamela muttered.

"It's the biggest, most important thing that's ever happened to me," I said.

She smirked and shook her head. "I can't take all this tension. It's bad for my complexion," she complained. She stood. "I need to sit in my electric massage chair before dinner."

"Well, I'm thrilled for you, honey. When is the game?" Peter asked.

I told him, and Pamela stopped walking out. She turned and looked at me. "What did you say? When is that silly event?"

I repeated the date.

"You can't go to that," she said. "Don't you realize what that date is? Have I been talking to myself for weeks and weeks? That's the date of your audition for the pageant. It's all arranged."

"No," I said, shaking my head. I looked at Peter, but he looked worried. Surely, he would come up with one of his ingenious compromises, I thought. "I've been selected from all the girls in all the schools. It's a great honor."

"That's no honor," Pamela declared. "How can you compare throwing a softball to winning a pageant?"

"I don't care. I'm playing. I've been chosen. I'm not going to the pageant."

"You absolutely are," she said. "I'm going to the phone immediately and call that big-mouth principal. I'll tell her that I absolutely forbid your participation, and if she doesn't obey me, warn her that I'm going to the trustees about her gossiping."

"Pamela," Peter said softly.

"What? You're not thinking of permitting her to go to the ball game instead of the pageant, are you? Look at all I've been doing, what we've spent, the piano lessons, the work, the pictures!"