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gums bled. “It’s not a permanent marker,” Joselle tried to explain.
    But all Vicki kept saying was, “I could scream. I could just scream!” It was then that Vicki announced that she and Rick were going to take a trip. By themselves.
    Joselle stayed in the bathroom, alone, crying, rocking on the toilet. There was greenish gray spittle all over the mirror and on the sink. Joselle knew she would always hate that color. Minty greenish gray.
    It wasn’t easy getting comfortable on Floy’s old sofa with so much to consider. Joselle played her tongue against her teeth and gums and tried to focus on something stupid and safe. The sofa. Joselle imagined that it had been handsome when it was new—red and firm and plush. Now the dye had faded to a dirty wine color. It was soft, but lumpy. And the patchy raised pattern that was supposed to be roses reminded Joselle of bald mutant camels that were more hump than anything else. But soon the pattern resembled the fabric of one of Vicki’s skirts. And then it resembled the upholstery in Rick’s car. It took a while, but Joselle finally nestled deep into the cushions, wrapped in a thin blue blanket, tight as a parcel. Tomorrow I will show Grammy how much I love her, Joselle thought. And I will complicate the life of Blaze Werla.

6 JOSELLE
    â€œT hank you, Joselle,” Floy said, smiling. “That was a wonderful breakfast. Where did you learn to cook so well?”
    â€œOmelets are easy,” Joselle said triumphantly, as she wiped the table with a dishcloth. “And I cook a lot at home. If I didn’t, I’d starve to death.”
    Floy leaned back in her chair, saying nothing, the veins in her neck pulsing. The conversation seemed to have ended.
    Floy looked older to Joselle that morning, and her face and neck had a bluish cast to them as though her skin had turned translucent and light were shining through. Floy had always been thin, but the older Joselle became, the thinner Floy appeared to be. Almost breakable, like blown glass.
    â€œIt’s true,” Joselle said finally. “I would starve. Especially since Rick and The Beautiful Vicki took a class at the community college on developing your ESP potential. They lounge around on the futon for hours—which is hardly unusual—and they go into trances to explore other countries. The trances really freak me out. I used to sit and watch them, wondering if they’d be home in time to fix me dinner. Now I just fix it myself. I’ve gotten good at it.” Joselle was playing with crumbs in her hand, and only then did she notice that her hands were still dirty from her secret prebreakfast task. Little crescent moons of dirt shone through the places on Joselle’s fingernails where her nail polish had chipped away.
    â€œWell, you can cook for me anytime,” Floy said, working at a spot on the tabletop with her thumb.
    â€œI know The Beautiful Vicki’s your daughter,” Joselle said, glancing at Floy nervously. “And I—” she said, then hesitated a moment, deciding to change the direction in which her comment was headed. “And I was just wondering what I could make you for lunch.”
    â€œWe’ve got all morning to decide,” Floy said. She rose from the table and reknotted the ties of her bathrobe. “Just tell me one thing—why do you call her The Beautiful Vicki?”
    â€œBecause that’s her name. And she is.”
    Floy turned around to face the sink, and her entire body began to move as if small waves rippled under her robe. Joselle was certain that Floy was crying, and her heart dropped as she pulled Floy toward her. But as their eyes met, Joselle’s heart became weightless; Floy had been holding back laughter. “The Beautiful Vicki—that takes the cake,” Floy managed to say between shrieks. “Well, I always thought she should be a beautician. Lord knows she spends enough money