Tallahassee Higgins by Mary Downing Hahn

me I'd better start putting more effort into my schoolwork.
    "When you came to me," Mrs. Duffy said, "I didn't think you'd be here long enough for me to worry about your progress, but now you'd better start paying attention and stop daydreaming out the window. You don't want to repeat the sixth grade, do you?"
    Well, of course I didn't. Nor did I want Mrs. Duffy to have the conference with my aunt and uncle that she was threatening. So I promised I would try harder.
    "I hope so, Tallahassee." Mrs. Duffy smiled at me then. "You're a smart little girl. There's no reason for you to do so poorly."
    She paused, and I started to stand up, thinking she was finished. Jane was outside waiting for me, and I didn't want her to freeze to death.
    "Just a minute," Mrs. Duffy added. "Is there anything bothering you that you'd like to talk to me about?"
    I rearranged my books to avoid looking at her. "No, ma'am," I said.
    "I know you must miss your mother," the teacher said gently.
    I fumbled with the zipper on my ski jacket, ashamed to tell her I was scared my mother had dumped me on Uncle Dan's doorstep like a cat she didn't want anymore. "She'll be sending me a ticket soon," I told Mrs. Duffy so she wouldn't feel sorry for me.
    "I hear she has a role in a movie," Mrs. Duffy said. "You must be very proud of her."
    I nodded without looking at her. "Can I go now?" I asked her. "Jane's waiting for me."
    "Yes, of course, Tallahassee." Mrs. Duffy patted my shoulder. "No more reading in your lap, though," she reminded me. "And please hand in your homework on time."
    "Yes, ma'am." I ran from the room and found Jane on the steps outside.
    "Was she mad?" she asked.
    I shook my head. "No, she just wants me to do my homework and stuff."
    As we crossed the street, I asked Jane more about Meryl Streep. "Did she ever abandon her daughter or anything like that?"
    The wind was whipping Jane's hair around her face, and her nose and cheeks were red. "I don't think Meryl Streep has a daughter," she said.
    When I didn't say anything, Jane walked a little more slowly. "Are you worried about Liz?" she asked softly.
    I shrugged and jammed my hands deeper in the pockets of my jacket. The wind was knifing right through my clothes and I felt like I'd never be warm again. Not even in the summer.
    "Sometimes I think she doesn't miss me very much," I said without looking up from the cracked and uneven sidewalk.
    "She's your mother, Talley. Of course she misses you!" Jane sounded shocked.
    "Oh, Jane," I sighed. "You just don't know. Liz is so different from your mom." I glanced at her, wondering how I could ever explain Liz to a person who had lived in the same house all her life with both of her parents. She had brothers and sisters and grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts and dozens of cousins.
    And Mrs. DeFlores stayed home all day and took care of her kids and cooked and cleaned and wore polyester slacks like Aunt Thelma and had her hair permed at a beauty parlor. She would never go around the block on a motorcycle, let alone all the way to California. She didn't want to be a movie star. Or a singer. As far as I could see, she just wanted to be an ordinary, everyday sort of person.
    Grumpy as Mrs. DeFlores was, Jane was lucky in some ways, I thought. When she walked in her front door, she knew her mother would be in the kitchen, feeding the baby or fixing dinner.
    "I think it would be wonderful to have a mother like Liz," Jane said, interrupting my thoughts. "A real live movie star. Just think, when she sends you that ticket, she may meet you at the airport with Richard Gere."
    "By then, he might be an old man," I muttered.
    "Don't be silly." Jane turned to me. "Do you know what my mother is doing right now?" Jane kicked a stone so hard it sailed up in the air and bounced down the sidewalk ahead of us, narrowly missing a skinny black cat.
    "She's wallpapering the bathroom for at least the third time. That's
her
idea of fun and excitement. My dad says