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mean to my mom in the third place?
    I determined that I wouldn’t let her get away with making my mother feel bad anymore. If she said one more mean thing, I would ... I would ... my pillow grew so warm that I just tossed it on the floor and fell asleep finally without it.
    * * * *
    “Molly! Molly! Are you awake, Molly?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Molly, listen, Molly. I want to tell you something.”
    I opened my eyes. It was dark, and the clock on my bureau said 3:32.
    “Are you crazy?” I asked her. “It’s the middle of the night. I want to sleep.”
    “I guess I’m still on English time,” she said, sounding a little bit sorry. “But I have to tell you something.”
    “I don’t want to hear it,” I said, feeling my hot, heavy eyelids shutting. “Tell me in the morning. I can’t listen now. I can’t ... ”
    * * * *
    As soon as I woke up the next morning, I turned toward my bed. Beth wasn’t in it. The clock said 9:07. I jumped up and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. I could hear voices from the kitchen, so I washed up, combed my hair, and went back up the hall.
    Beth was sitting in the kitchen, talking to my father. Both of them were smiling. My mother was nowhere in sight.
    “Good morning, Merry Sunshine,” said my father cheerfully. “Beth and I are arguing about politics.”
    “Where’s Mom?”
    “Oh, she insisted on going out to pick up some muffins for breakfast and some lemons. She’ll be back soon.”
    “The U.N. has to play a bigger role in world politics,” Beth announced.
    “The U.N.?” My father laughed. “The U.N. is just a big debating society.”
    “It’s much better to debate,” Beth leaned forward, “than to wage war. People get killed in a war—children too.”
    “Well,” said my father, nodding, “you’re right, of course, but I’m afraid until human beings change we’ll always have war. Anyway, I’m really impressed, Beth. You certainly take an interest in things, and you seem to know what’s happening out in the world. I wish ... ” My father left the sentence unfinished, but glanced quickly at me and then away. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that he was the only one who read the newspaper and that neither my mom nor I showed any interest at all in what was happening to the rest of the world. It made me feel angry and jealous.
    “Then human beings will just have to change,” Beth said.
    “It’s hot,” I complained. “I’m going to take a shower.”
    “Good idea,” my father agreed as he leaned forward and continued talking to Beth.
    By the time I had taken my shower and dressed myself in a pink shirt, pink shorts, and pink socks, my mother had returned and was bustling around the kitchen. I could hear her chattering away even before I entered the room.
    "Whatever you like, Beth. I bought a bunch of lemons, and I can make you some lemonade.”
    “I don’t drink lemonade in the morning,” Beth said. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She was looking over at the kitchen window, and her face had its usual mean look on it. My father was no longer in the room.
    “Oh!” My mother said nervously. “Then what? ... ”
    “Oh, I just like milk with a touch of nutmeg in it.” Beth continued looking at the window.
    “Nutmeg?” My mother took a breath. “I’m not sure I have any nutmeg.”
    “Water then,” Beth said as if she were talking to a waitress. “I’ll just have some water.”
    My mother hesitated and then said softly to Beth, “Your mother was a fussy eater too when she was a child.”
    “No, she was not,” Beth said firmly, her eyes still on the window. “She wasn’t a fussy eater when she was a child, and she isn’t one now either.”
    “I meant ... I meant your real mother.”
    “Well, so did I,” Beth said fiercely, turning and glaring now at my mother.
    “What is the matter with you?” I yelled at Beth. “She meant Kathy. You know very well she meant Kathy. You just stop picking on her.”
    Beth turned to look