Like Family Read Free

got back
     to the Lindberghs’, everyone changed into pajamas and brushed teeth; then Bub called us all into the living room. I thought
     there was going to be a family prayer but then noticed he had set up a reel-to-reel recorder on the floor. He had us sit Indian-style
     in a circle while he fussed with the machine. “Testing, testing.” The microphone looked as small and silver as a sardine in
     Bub’s sun-toughened hand. He tapped the talking end several times, blew into it and then, when satisfied, began to play radio
     commentator, going around the circle, asking each of us our names and how old we were, and one thing we were happy about.
     In that way, it was a little like Thanksgiving. He started with Penny, and although she stared into her slippers, she said
     her name and age without stuttering a bit, then briefly described the wonders of her Barbie camper — the miniature Styrofoam
     ice chest, the lantern no bigger than a jelly bean.
    I rubbed a section of my hair back and forth across my lips, my oldest habit. I was trying to think of the perfect thing to
     say, but when the mike came around to me, there was nothing but air in my mouth.
    “Hey, have you forgotten who you are?” Bub teased.
    I dropped my hands and flushed. “No. I’m Paula.” My name came out with a dry croak, and I had to repeat it: “I’m Paula and
     I’m eight and I’m happy for… for. I’m just happy, I guess.” I reached for my hair again and looked through my crossed legs
     at the carpet, a medium shag with blue-and-brown twists.
    “Well, that’s all right,” Bub said. “That’s a start.”
    When he got to Tina, she flung one plump arm around Teresa’s neck, nearly knocking her over in the process. “I’m Tina Marie
     Lindbergh, and this is my new bestest buddy!”
    Teresa grinned and nodded
yes, yes, yes,
her curls shaking excitedly. Pinned against Tina, she looked much younger than usual and completely uncomposed. Joyful.
    Now wait just a minute
, I thought, I
am Tina’s roommate. I am the
friendliest,
so why is Teresa suddenly the bestest buddy? And what is a
bestest
buddy anyhow?
    Once the opening ceremonies had ended, we headed down the hall to bed. Tina’s room was pretty and more feminine than I would
     have guessed, with pink walls, purple-flowered curtains and an industrial-size night-light with an eyelet shade and purple
     bulb. It wasn’t at all dark in there, but I imagined that was the point. I watched Tina climb the wooden ladder to the top
     bunk and settled myself on the bottom. We lay there in silence for several minutes.
Shouldn’t we say something? I
thought.
Even if it’s just good night?
Then, quite spontaneously, I hopped out of bed and stood on the ladder to face her. “Here,” I said, holding out my floppy
     beanbag toad. “This is Froggy. He’s good to sleep with.”
    She thanked me and smiled sleepily, and I was glad I had done it for all of about five minutes, until I heard her fall into
     a deep, diesel-like breathing and realized I wasn’t going to be able to sleep myself. Not only was the mattress new and crinkly,
     but the outside noises were all wrong. Instead of cars and sirens, there were crickets; a dog padding across the patio, shaking
     his collar; horses feeding with sharp tugs of grass that sounded like something perforated coming apart. Why had I given Froggy
     to Tina? She probably didn’t even want him. The beans wouldn’t stay in his left leg, and his bubble eyes had been rubbed clean
     of the black eyeball paint. He was a stupid toy. Stupid. I covered my face with my pillow and breathed in and out, in and
     out, then surfaced again. Deep, purple shadows fell over the horse posters thumb-tacked to the wall and over the shelves with
     plastic horse figurines in different sizes, some with saddles and reins that looked to be real leather. Tina was lucky to
     have such nice things. It occurred to me that since I was there borrowing her room, her closet, half of the