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best.”
    She just cried louder, but I didn’t get to go.
    We sent fancy presents, though—gold cuff links for Mr. Lattimore, a big red silk scarf for Mrs. Lattimore, and a gold locket for Beth.
    I didn’t talk much to my mom for a while. I was polite but cold. Alex took me to see The Nutcracker ballet and treated me to lunch in the city. Even though he’s the one in the family who picks on me the most, he’s also the one who spends—well, before Lisa, he used to spend—the most time with me. While we were eating, he gave me one of his big-brother lectures. I didn’t mind. I was used to them, and I was enjoying myself too much.
    “You have to understand that Mom has had enough problems in her life.”
    “Umm,” I said, and poured more ketchup over my French fries.
    “You’re not a baby anymore, even if she treats you like one, and you’re old enough to stop making her feel bad.”
    I swallowed a couple of fries.
    “I thought you should have gone out to San Francisco too,” he said, “but Mom isn’t ready for you to go. Just hang on another couple of years and try to understand.”
    I licked some ketchup off my mouth. At that moment, I didn’t mind not going to San Francisco. I was having too good a time with my brother Alex. And I did understand. It was because of Beth. Because she had chosen to go off to live with the Lattimores, and my mother was afraid the same thing would happen to me. She was afraid I might decide to go stay with them too.
    In my daydreams I used to wonder about that myself. What would I do if they asked me? Maybe they’d say something like, “Molly, we’d really like you to come and live with us too. You could have your own big room with all the toys you’d like, and your own bathroom, and a dollhouse just like Beth’s. And you could come with us to London and Paris and Maine.” Well, of course, I’d thank them very much, but I’d say no. I think I’d say no.
    So that night, I started talking to my mom again. I sat on her lap, and she laughed and said what would I like to do very, very special during the holidays.
    “Have a slumber party,” I told her.
    She didn’t put up any kind of fuss. Four of my friends stayed over. We all slept on the floor in the living room, and we made such a racket all night long that Mrs. Palagonia from upstairs banged on the ceiling. My mom didn’t say a word. She made us frozen waffles and bacon for breakfast, and later that week, she let me buy a bunch of new outfits for my Barbie doll.
     
    Chapter 5
     
    My mother was too busy complaining in a low voice about having to make dinner on Sunday to listen to me.
    “I was looking forward to taking it easy this weekend, just doing nothing for a change, maybe even going to the beach, maybe sitting under a tree in the park, maybe just staying home and relaxing ... ”
    “She’s sleeping in my bed,” I told them. My dad was sitting in front of the fan, smoking and listening to my mom.
    “So now I have to make dinner for nine people. Of course, Jeff has to bring over a friend—some girl named Ginger—and it’s going to be another blazing hot day ... I need all this like a hole in the head.”
    “She won’t move,” I said. “She’s sleeping in my bed, and she won’t move.”
    My mother waved a hand at me to shut up, to stop interrupting her while she was in the midst of something important. “I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow, and I’ll have to spend the whole day cooking ... ”
    “I’ll help,” my dad said sympathetically. “I’ll go out shopping early in the morning, and—"
    “I don’t even know what to make,” my mother cried, but in a low voice.
    “Lasagna,” both of us said together and smiled at each other. Lasagna was my mother’s greatest triumph—she wasn’t that good a cook otherwise, but nobody ever made lasagna the way she did. Nobody.
    “It’s too hot,” my mother complained. “Who needs the oven on when the temperature is in the 90’s? And who wants