“Hey!”
Alice glanced over her shoulder.
Smiling and waving and dressed in her khaki scout uniform, Penny Pilosi bounded up the driveway, her feet scattering gravel and her curly hair bouncing like rusty springs. She clutched something folded and glossy, a map or a brochure. A pen peeked out of the other hand she’d clenched into a fist. She carried the pen like a dagger.
Alice irritably observed her neighbor’s approach. No doubt Penny knew all about Madison and Casey Sue and thought she’d swing by to gloat. Her appearance was like the horde of insects awakened by the unseasonable warmth: undesirable but inevitable.
Penny leaped up the porch stairs, and Alice asked, “How’s it going?” in the same low, discouraging way she might mutter, “What do you want?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned the doorknob. But when she pushed open the door, she lost her grip on the painting. As if caught on a current, it swooped up, sashayed in the air, and fell, landing on the toes of her visitor’s worn sneakers. Penny crouched to study it.
“You made your nose too big.” She put her pen in her mouth and peeled the spotted bug wings off the acrylic paint, then straightened with the portrait in her hands.
Alice tossed her bags on the kitchen floor and, bracing the door open with her back, held out her hand. Penny passed her the painting.
“Your mouth looks good though.”
Alice grunted. “If you’re coming in, come in. I want to keep the bugs out.”
Penny pranced past her, dropped her things on the table, and veered straight for the fridge.
“Heard about you and Madison.” She found Alice’s first quarter report card under the Golding and Goodman Insurance magnet and ran a finger down the grades.