Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Carmen really cried. She sobbed. She shuddered and
heaved and gulped for breath like a four-year-old. Tibby put
both arms around her, smelling and looking that comforting
Tibby way, and Carmen was so relieved to be in a safe place
with someone who knew her really, truly, that she let loose.
She was the lost child in the department store, waiting until
she was safe with her mother to cry a flood of tears.
“What? What? Was it so bad?” Tibby asked gently,
when the volume and frequency of sobs had died down.
“It was horrible,” Carmen wailed. “It was miserable.”
“Tell me what happened,” Tibby asked, her sometimes
remote eyes damp and open with worry.
Carmen gave herself a few more breaths to calm down.
“I threw a rock through the window while they were eating
dinner.”
This obviously wasn’t what Tibby expected to hear.
“You did? Why?”
“Because I hate them. Lydia, Krista.” Pause. “Paul.
Their whole stupid life,” Carmen said sulkily.
“Right, but I mean, what happened that made you so
upset?” Tibby asked, rubbing her back.
Carmen blinked. What a question. Where to begin?
“They . . . they . . .” Carmen needed to stop and regroup.
Why was Tibby interrogating her this way? Why
wouldn’t she just be regular and accept Carmen’s feelings
as proof that whatever was wrong was wrong? “Why are
you asking so many questions? Don’t you believe me?”
Tibby’s eyes opened wider. “Of course I believe you.
I’m just . . . trying to understand what happened.”
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