Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

“What are you watching?” Carmen asked.
With the shades pulled down, there wasn’t much to
look at besides the TV and the hulking piles of mess.
“Oprah. She’s very sympathetic, you know,” Tibby
snapped.
Carmen waded through the piles and sat on Tibby’s
bed. It was testament to her concern, because Carmen
hated any mess she herself hadn’t made. “Tibby, please
tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Tibby said stonily. “I want you
to go away.”
The phone started ringing again. Tibby glared at it as
though it were a rattlesnake. “Don’t touch it,” she
ordered.
Beeeep, went the answering machine. Suddenly Tibby
dove for it, furiously searching for the volume dial. She
dropped the whole thing on the carpet.
Still the voice on the machine came through loud and
clear. “Tibby. It’s Bailey’s mother again. I want you to
know what’s happening here. Bailey’s not doing so well.
She has an infection and . . .” Tibby could hear the woman
sucking in air. Her lungs sounded like they were full of
water. “We—we’d just really like you to come. It would
mean a lot to Bailey.” She sobbed a little and then hung up.
Tibby couldn’t look at Carmen. She didn’t want to see
anything. She could feel Carmen’s eyes digging little tunnels
into her brain. She felt Carmen’s arm come around
her shoulders. Tibby looked away. An infinite number of
tears hovered behind her eyelids.
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