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fifteen an hour and
if I work fifty hours a week for ten weeks that’s $7,500 . . . not nearly
enough . . . have to win that contest and get the one-year scholarship and
then use the $7,500 for living expenses . . . can’t eat another Ramen noodle as long as I live . . . what about the transformation in Brandt . . . hard
not to wonder if he didn’t participate in some sort of scientific experiment
that made him go from gawky boy to normal guy . . . he’s still kind of
skinny . . . but it’s nothing that a few milkshakes couldn’t cure . . . oh
dear, I must really be overtired and becoming delusional . . . though I
wonder if he still carries that Klingon key chain . . . because maybe if
that’s definitely gone . . .
    When I hear a female voice calling my name I leap up and look around for a clock, terrified that I’m sleeping through an exam. It’s not one of my roommates, however.

Chapter Eight
    THE SUMMERHOUSE DOOR OPENS AND THE SHADOW OF MY mother appears, backlit by bright sunshine with thousands of tiny dust particles swirling through it. I must have dozed off for exactly ten minutes.
    “Mom!”
    “Oh Hallie, I’m so
glad
that you’re back. Mrs. Muldoon said she saw you driving down Main Street with boxes tied to the roof rack.”
    It’s a relief to know that the Cosgrove County grapevine hasn’t been experiencing any technical difficulties while I’ve been away.
    My mother’s cheeks are flushed pink, her voice is quivery, and her eyes brim with tears, just like when she’s pregnant.
    “Oh my gosh!” I put my arms around her. “You’re pregnant again!”
    She bursts into tears and I lead her over to the daybed. To myself I’m thinking,
This will make nine kids! We’ve just gone from being
a sports team to having our own militia.
    But to her I say, “It makes perfect sense that you’d be concerned about bringing another life into this world. How far along are you?”
    She dabs at her eyes with a tissue that she’s miraculously produced out of the sleeve of her summer sweater, the way mothers of small children are programmed to do in order to catch snot and spit-up before it makes contact with clothing and furniture.
    “About two months,” she says, and places a loving hand on her abdomen, where the infant in question is not yet visible, but allegedly in residence, rent-free. “I’m absolutely thrilled. You kids are all growing up so fast.” She scrolls her eyes up and down my five-foot-eight frame and then touches my almost pimple-free face as if that’s all the proof anyone needs.
    Unbelievable—a woman who still has six kids living at home is experiencing empty-nest syndrome? But I quickly change course to make sure she doesn’t think that I was suggesting she might not want the baby. “That’s terrific. Congratulations! I just meant . . . all I meant was . . . you don’t look very happy.”
    “It’s Louise!” she blurts out. “Oh, Hallie. She came home late one night last week and I
know
she was intoxicated. I didn’t dare tell your father.”
    “Mom, even Eric came home drunk a few times while he was in high school. It’s not the end of the world.”
    “It’s
more
than just that, Hallie. Louise made the varsity cheerleading squad and when sophomore year started they traveled all the time for games. She came home late on school nights and was gone most weekends and I didn’t notice anything wrong at first. But then her grades dropped and she started running around with a bad crowd, going off to parties at the University of Akron every Saturday night.” Mom starts to sniffle again.
    “Mom, most fifteen-year-olds go through that whole rebellious thing.”
    “But Hallie, she hardly says a word to any of us. And when I ask about her friends or where she’s going and what she’s doing she gets
so
angry, as if it’s none of my business.”
    “Okay, but I’m not exactly sure what
I’m
supposed to do about it.”
    “You can
talk
to her. Eric tried during spring vacation