"I'm contemplating dropping out," overheard in a Folio meeting, Car Forestal presiding.
"Don't worry. A B here translates into an A anywhere else. The colleges know this."
"Phew," Suki said to this news. "Like I'm really relieved."
CHF
"Nobody wakes up in the morning trying to burn. Believe me, Dad, that's not my ambition."
A Daughter
Lisa had never been to Queens before, but she asked directions and found the street and proceeded through the door, up the elevator, and down the hall toward an escalating smell of onion. She knocked at the door and opened herself to Miss Wilkes's embrace, to the fuzzy, unwashed, brown disarray of Miss Wilkes in her oniony apartment. Miss Wilkes — Janet — cleared a space and then she hovered. "I haven't had company since Marie," she said. "Just Taffy," and Janet pointed to a large caramel-colored mound of fur making little m's of sound, whiskers twitching.
"I'm allergic."
Janet moved between Lisa and the cat. "Oh dear, this whole place is cat!"
"It's only if I get close."
"Oh god," Janet said, and she brushed at her own clothes, but the caramel flecks of Taffy adhered. They could go somewhere else, but they had come to want privacy and for the first time had it. Lisa took Janet's hand and let herself be led into a back bedroom where one of the windows fronted brick. The buildings were close; the view was scary. The lumpish bed was covered in something coarse and maroon colored that Janet threw aside. "Scootch under," Janet said. Under the blanket then, under the cold sheet, against the warm, white shape, which did not smell like the usual Janet but a powdery, unexpected softness.
The truth was everything that happened did not feel good, although Lisa said she was only cold. It was cold outside. It was January. "But go on," Lisa said, and she let herself be held. She held still and said to the woman holding her, "Go on," even though some of what they were doing Lisa was shy of. "I think I may only be experimenting, Miss Wilkes," Lisa said, and the sound of the teacher title, Miss Wilkes, had the intended effect, turned the bedroom inside out, and they were both in school again, Lisa as the student.
"Yes," Janet said. "I understand," and after a while, "This is probably not something we should continue."
"Do you mean that?"
"I do."
This, this, no one else was doing this, this what Lisa was doing, which was experimenting, living, getting ready for college, ugly as it was in the ways it involved another's body.
"I don't think I've ever loved anyone," Lisa said. "Isn't that shocking?"
CHF
Miss Hodd said "Bedtime Story" was one of Car's best poems, and Car sent it to Astra because Astra would know what it was about.
A Daughter
Lisa Van de Ven e-mailed Josh that she had done it and discovered this kind of love was not what she was after. Josh was the only one of her friends to know what she was up to because, as she had told him, "to tell this tale would serve as an opportunity for some people I know to belittle and ridicule me, and I am the one who does this to others."
Mothers
Mrs. Van de Ven volunteered without anyone's asking. She had found the most reputable wig shop and taken Mr. Dell there, saying that one good feature was the range of styles they offered. Colors, yes, too, although nothing to match Astra Dell's red hair; her hair was not to be found in a shop. Carroty colors, moon yellows, silvers, whites in a schoolgirl style — long, straight, and banged — were available, and Mrs. Van de Ven held up the most orange model and asked Mr. Dell what he thought.
"Are you kidding?"
He thought he should buy his daughter earrings. Why try to hide the badge of her illness? The startled blue of her lashless eyes, the shadows of eyebrows — bald, bony, easily crushed — why bother with disguise or risk the horror of seeing her in a shifting wig, except that Mrs. Van de Ven seemed to think Astra might feel better about herself and her appearance in the "Cindy" wig. She held out the dummy head for him to touch the hair.
"See how lifelike?"
Mrs. Van de Ven didn't think he should pay for the more expensive human hair; the synthetic felt real, and, besides, the wig was temporary. "If you touched her scalp, I'm sure you'd feel stubble already."
Not stubble. He would feel the plates of bone. "I can't do this right now, Lettie."
"David."
"I've seen the wigs. I have to think about it. I have to speak to Astra."
"Then I'll buy it for her, David."
"Lettie, please."
Mrs. Van de Ven moved toward the counter with the "Cindy" wig, explaining to the saleswoman that this was the wig she wanted. At the same time, Mr. Dell held out his credit card. He said to the saleswoman, "I'm paying for this, please."
"David."
"I can't let you."
"And why ever not?"
He addressed the saleswoman, saying, "I'm paying," and the saleswoman looked at him and then at Mrs. Van de Ven, and when Mr. Dell held out his card, the saleswoman accepted it despite Mrs. Van de Ven's saying, "No, no, no. This is my treat. I'm the one who's insisting you get it. Give Astra a choice." She repeated this protest while the mechanics of the transaction went on between Mr. Dell and the saleswoman.
"Just sign here, please."
Mr. Dell also signed for the lunch that followed with Mrs. Van de Ven.
CHF
She told Astra the latest. "Now that Dad has a serious boyfriend, he doesn't need me to pimp for him, which is why, I'm sure, he's discouraging me from coming to Paris. He says I shouldn't. He says he's heard about my health. I bet he's heard. Didn't send him rushing home for Christmas, though, did it? I don't think I am going to go to Paris. I don't want to go."
Astra said, "Sometimes you do sound like the girl who uses her pusher too much, know what I mean?"
"Look, I know I'm being a brat, but I'm a seventeen-year-old American girl, Astra. I'm allowed."
Marlene
Was it as late as it looked outside?
Astra opened her eyes and said, "Time in here," but she didn't finish before she shut her eyes again. "I want a warm bath," Astra said. "The medicine makes me cold."
"I'm sorry," Marlene said. She was hurrying now, forcing folders into her book bag. Astra's otherworld voice scared her. She put on her coat and was almost at the door when Astra opened her eyes.
"It's too exhausting," Astra said, and she seemed to see dimly. "I can't be personal all the time."
Siddons
Dr. Meltzer repeated the question just asked him, "Can I give you the format to the exam? Do you really think knowing the format helps?"
How many times did Miss Mazur have to say it, "Yes, you should know the part of speech. Okay, okay. If you can use the word correctly in a sentence, I'll give you half credit."
"Extra credit? I never give extra credit."
"Will there be multiple choice?" The girls asked, "Maybe?"
"Can we not have an essay question?"
"I hate essays."