Girls in Pants: The Third Summer of the Sisterhood by Ann Brashares

Carmen tossed this off as though she were describing her plans to get a manicure.
    “Carmen?” Her mother’s look was satisfying. She was definitely and certainly paying attention to Carmen’s future and nobody else’s at this particular moment.
    “What?” Carmen blinked innocently.
    Christina inhaled and exhaled yoga style a few times. She settled back onto the cushions and thought awhile before she opened her mouth to talk. “Darling. In my selfish heart, I want nothing more than for you to stay home. I hate the thought of you leaving. I’ll miss you terribly. You know that. I want you to stay with me and David and the baby. In my selfish heart, that is my fantasy.”
    Carmen felt tears bulging out of her lids. She’d swung from pure insouciance to tears in under twenty seconds.
    Christina’s voice was soft as she continued. “But a good mother doesn’t just obey the wishes of her selfish heart. A good mother does what she believes is the best thing for her child. Sometimes they are the same. This time they are different.”
    Carmen pawed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. What kind of tears were these, exactly? Tears of joy? Agony? Fear? Confusion? Maybe a few of each?
    “How do you know that?” Carmen’s voice was full and high with emotion. “How do you know they aren’t the same?”
    “Because Williams is the right place for a girl as smart and capable as you, nena . You belong there.”
    “I belong at home.”
    “You’ll always belong at home. Going to Williams doesn’t mean you won’t belong at home.”
    “Maybe it will,” Carmen said.
    “It won’t.”
    Carmen shrugged and wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand. “I feel like it will.”
     
    Lenny,
    You sounded so sad on the phone earlier, we thought these might cheer you up. The lady at the candy store said she never knew a person who only liked root beer–flavored jelly beans, and to be honest, the all-brown bag doesn’t look quite as attractive as the tropical fruit mix, for example. But you are you, Lenny, and we love you like that.
    XXXXXXXXXXX OOOOOOOOO,
    Tib + Carma
     
    Tibby was outside her window. She was looking up at it, clutching the sill with her hands, feeling the emptiness under her feet. Inside was warm yellow light, and outside, where she was, it was dark. She could feel the apple tree somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t see it. Her hands hurt, her arms were lifeless. She wanted to get back into her room so badly. How had she gotten here? Why had she done it? She couldn’t drop down into dark emptiness, but she couldn’t get back inside, either.
    “Tibby? Tibby?”
    Tibby opened her eyes and took a moment to orient herself. She was slumped in a movie theater chair. The lights were on. The screen in front of her was blank. Margaret was ever so gently waking her.
    “Hi, Margaret. Hi. I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
    “You did. Don’t worry. Your shift is over. I jis took care of the garbage for you, so that’s all sit.”
    Tibby looked at her gratefully. “Thanks so much. I’ll get yours next time, okay?” Groggily she sat up and let the dream ebb away. She didn’t used to fall asleep in movies. But working in a theater could do that to you. Once she’d taken the tickets for the four o’clock show and made sure everyone was in their seats and vacuumed the lobby, she was allowed to watch. That was the whole reason she’d asked for Margaret’s help to get her this job.
    But now she’d seen The Actress fourteen times. The first three or four were pretty good. But slowly after that, the suspense drained out of the suspense. The spontaneity of the love affair shriveled to nothing. By the tenth or twelfth time, Tibby could practically see the gears working in the actors’ heads. She could practically see the cheap manipulations of the camera work. By the fourteenth time…well, she fell asleep.
    As a lifelong movie lover, it was sad, in a way, for her to watch the magic of the illusion dry up