Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Carmen studied her fingernails. They were bitten
short, with little hangnails decorating the sides.
“So why did you throw the rocks?” Bailey continued.
“You must have been pretty mad.”
Carmen’s mouth fell open. She glared at Tibby.
“Thanks a lot. Do you tell her everything?”
“Only important stuff,” Tibby replied.
For some reason, Carmen felt tears welling in her eyes.
She didn’t blink for fear of pushing them out for the camera
to see. “I’m not mad at my dad,” she said forcefully.
“Why not?”
The tears were bulging now. Sometimes just having tears
made you start feeling sorry for yourself and needing to make
more. “I’m just not,” Carmen said. “I’m not mad at him.”
It was no use. The tears spilled out. They chased each
other down her cheeks, over her chin, down her neck.
Vaguely she heard a clatter and saw that the boom and microphone
were on the floor. Bailey was sitting next to her, cupping
her elbow in a gesture that conveyed more sympathy
than Carmen could understand. “It’s okay,” Bailey said softly.
Carmen crumpled. She let her head settle against
Bailey’s head. She should have told this strange little girl
to get lost, but she didn’t. She lost track of the camera
and the movie and Tibby and even the fact that she had
arms and legs and that the world was turning.
Before long, Tibby was sitting on the other side of her,
holding her around the waist.
“You’re allowed to be mad,” Bailey said.
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