Girls in Pants - Ann Brashares [51]
It was no wonder Valia was angry. Her son had brought her here by near force and now spent the entire time wishing she weren’t here. And Valia really wanted to go away, that was the thing. They wanted her gone; she wanted herself gone. What a mess.
Lena drew and drew. Valia was an exceptional model. Far better than the professionals at school, who got paid fifteen bucks an hour. For seventy minutes, Valia stood stock-still without a single sigh or moan or wriggle.
After a while, Lena felt tears in her eyes, but she didn’t stop for them. How lonely Valia was! How much she loved being seen, finally. What a tragedy for all of them that they had starved her so.
When Lena finished, she got up and kissed Valia on the head. They hadn’t touched each other in months. Valia seemed shaken by it.
Shyly Lena offered Valia the picture. I’ve seen you. I think I finally have, Lena said silently.
Valia looked at it for a long time. She didn’t say anything. She nodded brusquely, but Lena believed that on this strange Saturday afternoon, they had seen each other.
The next morning at breakfast, Valia was back to her usual tricks.
“Who made this coffee?” she demanded, acting as though she might very well spit it on the table.
“I did,” Lena shot back. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s the vorst,” Valia said heartily.
Lena clapped her eyes on Valia’s and wouldn’t let them go. “So don’t drink it, then.”
Her entire family stared at her in astonishment, and Lena felt quite pleased with herself.
“Hi, Carmen? I hope this is the right Carmen. If this is the right Carmen, then this is Win. If not, it’s…it’s still Win and sorry to bother you. Even if this is the right Carmen, I might be bothering you and I’m sorry if I am. I found your number on the…well, never mind. I’m not like a stalker or anything. I swear to God. I’ve never called somebody up out of the blue like this. But I have to admit I’ve been thinking about you, and…” Beeeeeeep.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Bridget felt a tiny tickle of hair against her arm. She opened her eyes without moving a single other muscle. In sleep, Eric had rolled toward her. His head had come so close as to graze her shoulder. She felt breathless. Their bodies were curled in the same direction, hers distantly cupping his. The bottoms of their sleeping bags almost touched.
What little sleep she had had that night was light and full of surface dreams. She couldn’t go under any deeper, being this close to him. She wondered if he noticed at all how close their bodies were, how their breath mixed. Or was his sleep innocent and sound?
Gingerly, glacially she moved her foot. She held her breath until, through her sleeping bag, she could feel, ever so lightly with her big toe, the shape of his heel. She prayed he wouldn’t notice or stir. He didn’t. He slept.
She withdrew her foot, feeling sorry.
She would have given anything for him to want her again. But she would have given even more for him to trust her.
Don’t ask me any questions right now. I’m grumpy and I’ll probably make fun of you.
—Effie Kaligaris
Tibby was standing at the front of the theater, waiting for the one o’clock show to end. She’d stopped watching the movies altogether. These days she preferred to stand by the front windows and look out. One afternoon the box office lady was sick, and Tibby got to take over in the tiny room. That was fun—safe, contained, predictable.
Tibby wondered, once again, about the wisdom of her career choice. She wondered if maybe NYU had