The Blue Girl Read Online Free PDF

looking for it, was the relief that the friend was as obviously prim and tidy as she thought her daughter was. But hey, that’s the image I was trying to project, so I couldn’t complain.
    “She rarely goes out, unless it’s to the library or the bookstore,” Ms. Tattrie went on, “and I can’t remember the last time she had someone over. This past year’s been the worst. I think losing her father has been particularly hard on her.”
    I guess Mr. Chancy had been the buffer between his wife and his daughter, making it a little harder for Ms. Tattrie to run completely roughshod over Maxine. But it sure was weird the way she made it sound like Mr. Chancy had died. My own mom said that happens when some couples break up, when it’s really messy and bitter. It wasn’t at all like that with Mom and Dad—they still had long talks on the phone every couple of days.
    “Well, I just feel so lucky to have met her,” I said.
    We sat in the living room while Maxine made the tea— no hanging around the kitchen table in this house, I guess. It was one of those sterile spaces that made you wonder why they’d call it a living room because, for all intents and purposes, no one actually lived in here. The furniture was all tasteful—sleek, polished wood tables; white couch and armchairs. The walls had generic landscapes, one per wall, no more, no less. On the mantel, flanked by silver candlesticks, was a formal portrait of Ms. Tattrie and Maxine. The coffee table had a fan of magazines— Time, In Style, Life, National Geographic, and the like—spread just so.
    I didn’t have to work to remember my posture and keep my knees together. I wasn’t likely to relax in here—not in this room, or under Ms. Tattrie’s watchful eye.
    “I don’t know how I’d ever catch up with my studies if it wasn’t for her help,” I went on. “I have to admit feeling a little guilty, taking up her time the way I have, because I certainly wouldn’t want her grades to suffer, but she’s assured me that helping me keeps the material fresh for her as well.” Her mother nodded. “There’s nothing like teaching to help you learn better yourself.”
    “That’s exactly what she said. And she’s obviously so smart that she doesn’t need my help, but she seems to think I can be useful quizzing her on what we’re learning.”
    “Well, I’m just glad that she’s finally found herself a friend with some decent values.”
    I smiled at her, my hands folded primly on my lap. Oh, I really am good, I thought. But then it helps when the other person is seeing what they hope to see, rather than what they fear.
    Maxine arrived with the tea, and we made small talk while we drank. I think I was the only one who was even remotely relaxed and I was tense—well, at least tense for me.
    *    *    *
    “I can’t believe you,” Maxine said later when we were in her room. “You should be an actress.”
    It was such a girly room, all frills and lace—straight out of the Proper Girl Handbook, chapter four, “The Bedroom.” The lower part of the walls was a dark, dusty rose, the upper a lighter shade, the edging a border of vines and roses. The comforter had the same pattern, and so did the lace bedskirt and the pillows heaped at the headboard. The furniture was all white—bed, night table, dresser, bookcase, and a desk and chair set—while a rose throw rug picked up the color from the walls.
    Lined up on the back of the dresser, with a few more on the windowsill, was a collection of what I could only call prissy dolls .You know the kind, all ringlets and lacy dresses and too-perfect porcelain faces. They were immaculate, as though they’d just come out of their packaging and had never been played with. Though I guess I was being unfair. Just because I like scruffy things, doesn’t mean everyone has to.
    “I didn’t know you collected dolls,” I said.
    Maxine pulled a face. “I don’t. This whole room’s my mom’s creation.”
    She went