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for my birthday?” the girl said. Seeing her, I realized we’d made a good decision not to hold the writers’ group in Adele’s domain. Between Lyla’s trendy outfit and her manner, she was quite grown up, and the set of books she showed her mother were aimed at tweens. I knew because I’d read
Joy on Her Own,
which was
about a high school girl juggling her social life and trying to keep secret that she was bringing up her siblings on her own. And the Savannah books—they were about a geeky girl who built a time machine and had a ghost sidekick. It was a trilogy that came with a crystal bracelet matching one the heroine wore. I admit, I had one.
    Her mother seemed a little surprised and said the books might be too old for her.
    “Mother,” she said as she rolled her eyes skyward. “I’m going to be eleven.” There was some discussion about her upcoming party. When Emerson said she’d booked the pizza place that had all the games, Lyla looked stricken. “You didn’t, Mother. That’s for children.”
    I was familiar with the place and had to agree with Lyla, though I wasn’t going to say anything. I think Emerson must have seen her daughter’s point, too, because as I excused myself to get some young adult books on writing, I heard the mother say something about rethinking it.
    By the time I’d come back with the books, Mr. Sherman was there. I did a double take. I don’t know why, but I was expecting someone with a white beard and wire-rimmed glasses. Mr. Sherman, or Ben, as he told the kids to call him, was young, with a mop of unruly black curly hair and an overly serious attitude. Several more kids had joined the group. Their parents hung around for a few minutes, and then I saw them, along with Emerson, make their way to the bookstore café.
    Somehow I felt responsible for the success of this new program at the bookstore, so I used setting up a display of writing books as an excuse to hang around and see how it went. Ben won them over in a flash, particularly when they heard his credits.
    “I suppose you want to know what I’ve written. Some of the stuff you’d probably find pretty boring, but how many of you watched
The New Adventures of Janet and the Beanstalk
?” Lyla and the two other girls raised their hands. The boys didn’t look that impressed. “Who says girls can’t be heroes?” Ben said. He looked at the boys and mentioned writing some episodes for
Zeon, Spaceship Mechanic
. He glanced in my direction and described some literary stories in several academic anthologies. He told the kids and me that it was good not to lose touch with the real world when you were a writer. He managed that by dabbling in the food industry. I got it. Food industry was his way of saying he was a waiter.
    I didn’t want to hover too much, so as soon as he gave them their first writing exercise, I walked away.
    The event area was on the side of the bookstore that faced Ventura Boulevard. The back corner of the bookstore had recently been turned into a yarn department, which I was in charge of, too. It was also the spot where the crochet group, the Tarzana Hookers, met. Once we’d put up a permanent worktable in the middle of the colorful department, some of the Hookers were almost always hanging around, even when it wasn’t a real meeting time.
    Though this morning was a regular get-together. As I approached the table, I was surprised to see how full it was and that there seemed to be some new members. CeeCee Collins had her position at the head of the table. We all thought of her as the leader of the group. Along with being a superb crocheter, she was also our resident celebrity, not that that had anything to do with her leading the group.
    Everybody recognized her from some part or another of her career. Long ago, she’d had her own sitcom,
The CeeCee Collins Show
, but now most people recognized her from her reality show,
Making Amends,
or her supporting lead in the film
Caught by a Kiss
, which featured