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money for curlers? I just have a few left. I never did find all of them that time Cary used them on that stray dog’s hair so he could sell it for a poodle.” She turned around to display the back of her head. Her lightish no-particular-color hair was done up on rags at the back of her head, instead of on the metal cylinders that clustered around her face. She put her arm around Dad’s neck and her cheek against his. “I’d only need about a quarter.”
    “Oh, Theda!” Robin said. “That’s all you ever think about. Clothes and make-up and stuff. You’re always wanting something for yourself. Don’t be so selfish.”
    Theda looked surprised, but Dad’s reaction surprised everyone. “Now that’s enough, Robin!” he said, and this time his eyes were cross too. “I’ve never worried about the things Theda wants. They’re not extravagant. You’re the one who worries me. You’re the real wanter in this family.”
    For a moment Robin stared at her plate, feeling her cheeks getting hot. Then she got up quickly, leaving part of her beans and bread uneaten, and went into the other room. She threw herself down on the bed. Dad almost never scolded her, particularly not in front of Mama and Theda. And besides, it wasn’t fair. She never talked about wanting anything. What did he mean when he called her a wanter?
    She lay on the bed for what seemed a long time, but no one came in to see what she was doing. From the other room she could hear Mama telling Dad what groceries to buy .when he rode into town with Mr. Criley. The only other sound was deep breathing from the corner of the room where Shirley was asleep on her old crib mattress on the floor.
    After a while Robin began to feel less hurt and more curious. It was strange the way Dad always knew what she was thinking, almost before she knew herself. When she let herself really think about it, Robin had to admit that she knew what Dad meant. She just hadn’t thought of it that way before. But there were uncomfortable hollows, empty except for vague longings — like when you’re hungry, but not for anything you can have. And that was wanting, all right — wanting, wanting, wanting.
    And Dad must have known about it. It was like that with Dad and Robin. Once, a long time ago, Robin had overheard a conversation between Dad and another man. The man had mentioned, as lots of people did, that all the Williams children looked a lot like their father. All, that is, except Robin, who obviously took after her mother. But Dad had said, “Yes, Robin escaped the towhead and freckles, but in many ways she’s the most like me of them all.”
    That had been a long time ago, back in Fresno, before Dad had had pneumonia and had lost the house and his job. Robin had been pretty young when she overheard the conversation, but even then she had known just what Dad meant. The same things mattered to Dad and to her — important things, like books and music. But in the last few years that had all changed.

Gwendolyn McCurdy

    R OBIN WANTED TO AS k about going to Bridget’s again that evening after dinner, but she didn’t want the others to hear, and the little two-room cabin was just too full of Williamses. Besides, Dad was tired. When Robin asked him to go for a walk with her, he brushed her off with, “Some other time, Robin. I’m just too tired.”
    So when bedtime came, Robin resolved to wake up early the next morning and walk part way to the mule barns with him. She could ask him on the way. As she climbed into bed, she tried setting an internal alarm clock by saying over and over again, “Wake up at six — wake up at six.” She’d tried it before, and it worked sometimes.
    Theda must have forgotten what Robin had said to her when she had asked for curlers. At least she didn’t seem to be angry. As they were getting into bed, she gave Robin her choice, as usual. “Shall we curl up first, or stretch out?” she asked. This time Robin chose to curl up first.
    Three years