lot of time humming over
pie recipes and going through her closet for “something suitable to wear。” She'd even bought
a new shirt for Dad and had scrutinized what the boys
intended to wear。 Obviously she was looking forward to the dinner— not that I really
understood that； but I didn't want to ruin everything by telling her
about my newfound hatred of Bryce。
And Dad felt bad enough about David already。 The last thing he needed was to hear about
crackpot ments made by immature eighth
graders。
So that night I went through the motions of baking pies with my mother and convinced myself
that I was doing the right thing。 One dinner couldn't
change anyone's life。 I just had to get through it。
Friday at school I avoided the blue…eyed brat the best I could； but that night as I got dressed；
I found myself staring at the painting my father had
given me and became furious all over again。 Bryce had never been a friend to me； ever！ He
hadn't made a stand for the tree； he'd thrown away my
eggs； and he'd made fun of me at my uncle's expense…。 Why was I playing along like we
were jolly friends and neighbors？
When my mother called that it was time to go； I went out in the hall with every intention of
telling her that I would not； could not go to the Loskis' for
dinner； but she looked so lovely and happy that I couldn't。 I just couldn't。 I took a deep brea