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turned off the engine. She raced across the raked white pebble drive, heaved back the heavy oak door, clattered into the house and across the front hall and up the stairs, yanking the pink ribbon off the long French braid that pulled her pale blond hair away from her face. By the time she’d reached her bedroom, she had the braid undone, and she shook her head wildly like a dogcoming out of the water, so that her hair flew all around her face.
    Limbs spinning, she managed to unzip her pink linen dress and at the same time kick off her white dress shoes so hard they flew into the wall with a satisfying thud.
    “Tessa.”
    She turned to see her mother standing in the doorway.
    “What.” Looking away, Tessa peeled off her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She hated her mother seeing her in her underwear, but she hated wearing that stupid dress more.
    “I thought we had an agreement.”
    “We do. And I kept my part, didn’t I?” She pulled on her black jeans and the man’s navy cotton shirt she’d bought from the thrift shop. Her mother didn’t know Tessa had gotten it there; she’d freak if she knew. Tessa had told her that Tracy had given it to her, and still Tessa’s mother had put it through the wash five or six times, on hot, before telling Tessa she was permitted to wear it. It was very soft now, comfortable to the touch.
    “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
    Tessa looked at her mother. You don’t understand anything , she wanted to yell, O Great Queen of Perfect Control .
    “I told you. Because it’s embarrassing. Because the dress is dorky. Because I’m twelve years old! Because no one my age dresses like that.”
    Anne Madison sighed. Her suit was the same pink of Tessa’s dress—she coordinated the clothing they wore when they were together in public, remembering that one of her advisers had said that since a picture is worth a thousand words, the sight—the snapped shot—of her and her daughter in similar colors was worth gold in what it conveyed.
    Anne’s suit was not wrinkled. Anne’s clothing, subject to the mysterious laws that governed her life, never wrinkled. Her blond hair was pulled back in its neat French coil, and pearl earrings—not too large, not too small—gleamed from the lobes of her ears, the same size and sheen as the pearls at her neck.
    “Darling.” Crossing the room, she sat down on the lavender velvet bench at the foot of Tessa’s bed. “We’ve talked about this. You care about my winning the election as much as I do. I know you do. All the issues I’m fighting for will directly affect your life. I think it’s a small sacrifice to make, to wear a beautiful dress to church, knowing that that will help me get elected and will help all women have better lives.”
    Tessa stared at her mother. Sometimes she thought that, beneath the perfect pink dress, beneath the silk slip, on her mother’s slender back, beneath her bra strap, lay a plastic button anda small plastic door where the batteries were inserted.
    “I miss Dad.” Tessa hadn’t meant to say that; it just came out. Her life was a mess right now, her brain was scrambled, she said things without meaning to. Sometimes she wondered if she had a disease.
    Anne took a deep breath. With infinite gentleness she began to rub at a spot on her dress. “Yes, well, I miss your father also. Why don’t you tell him the next time you see him that I’ll let you skip church completely if he’ll return home just until after the election.”
    “Mom,” Tessa said, “he’s not coming back.”
    Anne’s head snapped up. Two roses bloomed in her cheeks, as if she’d been struck hard, twice. She stood and stalked away—then she stopped at the doorway to glare at her daughter. “For that cruel remark, little miss, you’re grounded today.”
    “That’s not fair!” Tessa protested.
    Anne raised her chin. “And you’re restricted to your room.”
    “Mom! What about lunch?”
    “I’ll bring you