Mommy hadn't hired anyone even though she had conducted interviews and had a dozen or so resumes. She had decided only during the final few weeks not to do so immediately.
"I think it's important for me to be home and continue the breast-feeding," she announced at dinner one night. I looked at her and thought Massy was right after all. Despite Mommy's knowledge of psychology, she would be the neurotic mother Massy had predicted.
Not yet," I was forced to admit. Massy practically illuminated, her eyes filling with candle flames.
"Not yet?" She laughed. 'I told you." she declared with such an expression of self-satisfaction. I felt my stomach churn. "I told you your mother would be too nervous to put her trust into anyone but family."
"Yes, you told me. You're so brilliant and the rest of us are all stupid." I retorted, shaking my head in front of her and burning my eyes into hers.
"Don't get mad at me for being right," she fired back,
Everyone looked at me. My face was flushed. I was already in a mood that serial killers would envy, and here was Massy putting her fat, self-satisfied face in mine.
I smiled coldly at her, "I'm not mad at you for being right, Massy. I'm mad at you for enjoying it so muc
h and for taking your frustrations out on me.'
"Huh?" she moaned, stepping back, her cheeks swelling so much, her eyes seemed to disappear. "What frustrations?"
"Not being able to get Raymond Humphrey to give you the time of day." I replied in a voice loud enough for the boys behind us to hear. Raymond being one of them.
Massy's face turned more blue than red. She looked at the other girls, and then, with her eyes filling with tears to drown out those candle flames, she lifted her heavy shoulders, squeezed her books against her ample bosom, and spun around to march away. The boys laughed aloud behind us.
"That was mean. Hannah," Brigitte Sklar said. The others nodded in agreement. "You know she told us that in confidence. We were all trusting each other with our heartfelt, deepest secrets."
"It's her own fault, making me feel bad first." I said. I hated sounding like I was whining, but that was exactly what I was doing.
"What did she say that was so terrible? She was just trying to give you heads-up about your mother and what things might be like for you at home." Tina Olsen said.
"You should know better." Brigitte insisted. "That wasn't fair."
"Fair has nothing to do with anything!" I snapped back at her. "It's childish to think it does."
She didn't reply. She looked at the others and then the bell rang and we headed for our classes. At lunch I felt like being by myself. It wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't because all my friends were comforting poor Massy, who was milking their sympathy and throwing glances full of darts my way. I had sulked all through my last two classes, not answering questions I could have easily answered. Everyone kept her distance between classes, too. They could see in my face that I was full of anger and selfpity and not fit company. I found an empty corner at a table and attacked a cheese-and-tomato sandwich as would a ravenous dog.
"Are you that hungry?" I heard and turned to look up at Heyden Reynolds.
"No," I said. "I don't even know what I'm eating." I replied. He smiled and looked toward my friends,
"Trouble in paradise?" he asked me.
"Some paradise," I muttered, His smile widened to reveal how pleased he was about that. Was this a case of misery loves company? I wondered.
"I heard you singing in Mac's class the other day." he said, sliding himself onto the chair across from me. "You have a nice voice. It has timbre."
"Timbre?"
"Yeah. When you want to, you can bellow it aut. Your voice has a thickness, a resonance. It's deep and rich." he continued like a professional music critic. "I like the way you hit the law notes and then lift the melody when you have to and get into the high ones. You've got the range someone needs to make it out there," he added.
I simply stared at him. He raised his eyebrows at my silence and at the way I glared. Then he tucked in the corners of his mouth and began to rise.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to poke my nose in your life."
"No!" I cried when he turned to walk off.
"No?"
"I mean, you're not poking your nose into my life. I mean, you are, but that's okay. I appreciate it. Thank you. Poke all you want."