6.
Monica watched her friend’s purple, holey sneakers tear around the doorframe. Jenny had not worn them since the eighth grade, when a tuba tumbled out of the bandroom closet and broke her foot. Monica stared at the carpet where Jenny’s adored flip-flops lay, flipped and flopped. She heard excited shrieks coming from the kitchen and a little girl yelling, “Mommy! Mommy!”
A similar sound awaited her at home the next evening. “These were in our mailbox!” Monica’s mother exclaimed. She slapped two cruise tickets on the countertop.
Monica read them. “They’re the same week the preview starts. So you won’t come with me?” Her envelope, too, had contained about the same thing as Jenny’s, except for the address and the three tickets instead of five.
“No, sweetie. Your father and I haven’t been on a real vacation in such a long time. Oh, but don’t worry. We still love you.” She kissed her daughter smack on the forehead.
“I’m not worried about that, I just thought that since you both appreciated the campus so much more than me, you might want to go.”
“I won’t be the one attending,” Monica’s mother said. “You and Jenny – yes, of course, if you like it well enough – will be there. Stop huffing at me. Her parents are going with you.”
“Just out of curiosity, where did these tickets come from?” Monica asked.
“Your father must have entered another contest with the country club,” her mother replied. “He likes to win those things.”
“Oh, I see,” Monica said. Set near the tickets, her pointer finger felt as though someone had seized it with pliers and it was slowly being twisted.
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