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grandmother, her world felt so empty and hollow, she could hold it at one end and ring it like a bell. It’s better now, she said.
    We must’ve talked for an hour. I can’t remember half of what we talked about, except that Leslie said friends can be like familia. Only she pronounced it fama-lea. It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. Anyway, she was right.
    So I don’t have a boyfriend now. So what? Neither does Janelle. Or Gloria. Or Leslie. But we have each other.
    Maybe we can all be alone together.

OPEN MIKE
    El Noche
    BY LUPE ALGARIN
     
     
    I stand out in the cold
el noche and I
both too lonely for whispers.
Only the wind
shatters this silence.
I have been here before
choking in solitude,
but this time
when all the earth
is hollow as a bell,
I hold one end,
ring it,
and you come —
a pale-skinned surprise,
a friend.

Tyrone
    Her voice is so soft, I close my eyes every time she reads, trying to hold in the sound a little longer. I’m glad Mr. Ward asked her to read her piece over again. She says it like a whisper, but it’s powerful stuff. That’s one thing these ladies know how to do. Be soft and strong at the same time. Like my moms.

Janelle
    Tyrone said something to me today, but I didn’t hear him. I’m having trouble getting Judianne’s poem out of my head. Even Lupe said it was a surprise. We all thought Miss Fifth Avenue was self-confidence with a capital S, but her poem was all about wishing she could make herself over. I know what that’s like. Which is what I tried telling Judianne the other day. Boy, was that a mistake!
    I ran into her in the bathroom. That seems to be our place to meet. Anyway, I decided to take advantage of the meeting.
    “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I really liked the poem you read for Open Mike Friday.”
    “Yeah? Well, thanks. I’m not used to writing poetry.”
    “Well, nobody could tell it. You know, I could really get into what you were saying about trying to make yourself over, wishing you could be perfect and all. I mean, I feel like that every time I look in the mirror.”
    Judianne nodded, and her tight mouth softened a little. She was about to say something, but then a toilet flushed and she realized we were not alone. Sheila Gamberoni came out of the stall, and the minute she did, Judianne slipped back behind her usual scowl and turned mean.
    “Look, I am nothing like you, okay?” she spit out. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re fat and I’m not. And you’re wrong about my poem. It was just words. It didn’t mean anything. You got that?” And she slammed out of the bathroom and left me there, stinging from the inside out.
    I bit my lip to keep the tears back. I turned the faucet on and washed my hands a few times, staring at the sink until I heard Sheila step out into the hall. I glanced up at the mirror before I left. “You’re wrong, Judianne,” I said to the mirror. “They weren’t just words, and you know it.”
    I haven’t tried talking with her since. I don’t want to give her an excuse to be mean to me again. I’m not mad at her, though. I know there’s a part of her that’s as scared to look in the mirror as I am. I saw that person for a few seconds, even if she wants to deny it. Calling me names won’t change the way she feels inside. One of these days, she’s going to find that out.

OPEN MIKE
    Mirror, Mirror
    BY JANELLE BATTLE
     
     
    Sisters under the skin,
we meet in the mirror,
our images superimposed
for one split second.
Ready or not,
I peer into your soul
and dive deep,
splash-landing
in a pool of pain
as salty and familiar
as the tears on my cheek.
Your eyes don’t like
what I see.
You don’t want to be me.
So you curse
and smash the mirror,
which gets you what?
A bit of blood,
a handful of glass splinters,
another source of pain.

Tyrone
    Mm, mm, mm. Janelle is working it. Seems like her pieces are getting tighter. Actually, I think everybody’s getting better.