Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

I just felt . . . invisible there,” she answered slowly,
thoughtfully. “Nobody paid any attention to me. Nobody
listened when I said I was unhappy or complained when I
acted like a brat. They just want everything to look and
seem perfect.”
“‘They’ is Lydia mostly? Your dad?” Tibby let the last
word linger.
“Yeah. Lydia mostly.”
“Are you feeling mad at your dad too?” Tibby asked
carefully.
Carmen sat up. Why couldn’t Tibby just get mad with
her? Tibby was the master of anger. She judged without
reason; she loathed on a dime. She hated your enemies
more than you did. “No I’m not! I’m mad at those other
people!” Carmen shot back. “I don’t want to have anything
to do with them. I want them to go away and for it
just to be me and my dad again.”
Tibby backed away a little. Her eyes seemed wary.
“Carma, do you think . . . I mean, is it really . . .” Tibby
pulled her feet up onto the bed. “Is it possible it’s not the
worst thing in the world?” she asked, looking down. “I
mean, compared to the really bad things?”
Carmen gaped at her friend. When had Tibby become
Miss Perspective? Miss Proportion? If anybody got feeling
sorry for herself and blaming other people for it, it
was Tibby. Why was Tibby making her be reasonable
when she just needed to be heard?
“Where’d ya put Tibby?” Carmen finally asked with a
punctured lung and walked out of the room.
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