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frankly female figure made her feel dried up and even older, and about as sexual as a dead bug.
      "It's a big deal to me, Amber. Boys will look at your body instead of at you. No woman wants to be just a body to men." Even as she said the words, she remembered desperately wanting boys to look at her skinny, underdeveloped dancer's body the way they looked at girls who looked like Amber. How different it all was on this side of the parenting chasm.
      "Mom, you are so hung up about sex."
      Sarah inhaled sharply. "Amber."
      "These are clothes . The boys will just see clothes."
      "No, they won't, honey. Trust me. Go up and change."
      "You never let me do anything. I am the most restricted girl in the whole town. I can't stay out late, I can't wear what I want, I can't eat what I want. You don't like my boyfriend, you don't like my—"
      "That's enough, Amber. Go take it off." Sarah's voice came out harsher than she intended. She was generally anxious not to thwart Amber's self -confidence and individuality, but she'd woken up feeling uncharacteristically cranky and disoriented. The day was unusually warm and windy, an abrupt change from the gradual fall chilling she enjoyed so much every year. Her sinuses had responded as usual by making her face feel as if a lead balloon had been inflated behind her eyes. Maybe that was it.
      Or maybe it was that Vivian person moving in only a few houses down the block. Mrs. Entwhistle had called yesterday afternoon to tell Sarah to look out her front window. She had, and been treated to a sight that confirmed her worst fears. Brazen, overtly sexual, practically throwing herself at Mike. She was exactly the kind of woman Sarah dreaded her daughter having any contact with. An especially bad omen that Amber showed up this morning dressed nearly the same way Vivian had been yesterday, though of course Amber had bought the clothes with her trampy friend Tanya before Vivian showed up.
      Sarah planned to do the right thing and visit Vivian this morning with one of her carrot cakes made with pineapple and reduced -fat cream cheese frosting. Frankly, she dreaded it.
      Amber stomped upstairs, making sure the impact of each foot on each step could be heard throughout the county. Sarah cringed, waiting for the slam of her room door.
       Slam .
      So damn predictable.
      "Coffee ready?" Her husband ambled into the kitchen, freshly shaved and looking so handsome in his usual jeans and cotton shirt. His medium brown hair was thick as ever, though a little more of his forehead showed every year. And his brows had grown wild; she'd suggested he tweeze and trim, but then he wasn't much for her suggestions. A man very much of his own opinions, and how she admired that about him.
      "Yes, good morning, dear." She walked up to him, needing the feel of his arms around her. They exchanged their usual quick peck on the lips before he folded her in his embrace.
      Funny how she always felt hugging the man you loved should feel like drowning in his arms. She never got the impression Ben was trying to drown her. More like a lifesaving maneuver, careful, efficient, and practical. But then he was a very efficient and practical man, another of his many fi ne qualities, so it wasn't as if she was complaining.
      "I'm ready." Amber clumped back downstairs, wearing her rattiest shirt over the jeans and those dreadful shoes that made her feet look like black boats on top of black bricks.
      Sarah chose not to fight. Amber didn't look slutty anymore, and if she wanted to think she was sticking it to Mom by looking ratty instead, she'd get no satisfaction from Sarah acting stuck.
      "Juice is on the table, the eggs are ready, I'll dish them up. The toast is in the oven staying warm."
      Her family sat and ate in silence, Amber's sullen, Ben's distracted, Sarah's contemplative; silverware clinking against the bistro chinaware she'd gotten from CooksCorner.com, so cheery in bright