t；　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　breath；

wrapped　up　a　pie；　and　shuffled　across　the　street

behind　my　brothers　and　parents。

Chet　answered　the　door。　Maybe　I　should've　been　mad　at　him；　too；　for　telling　the　Loskis　about

my　uncle；　but　I　wasn't。　I　hadn't　asked　him　not　to　tell；

and　he　certainly　wasn't　the　one　making　fun　of　David。

………　Page　70………

Mrs。　Loski　came　up　behind　Chet；　whisked　us　in；　and　fluttered　about。　And　even　though　she

had　quite　a　bit　of　makeup　on；　I　was　surprised　to　see

the　blueness　of　bags　beneath　her　eyes。　Then　Mrs。　Loski　and　my　mother　went　off　with　the