Time to Fly by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

star,” Mom says. “And besides, I’m off duty tonight. I’m just plain old Rose Hopkins, hometown girl.”
    When we get our rental shoes, it turns out Mom and I now wear the same size. Cool—that means I can start borrowing her shoes. She has a great collection.
    â€œI didn’t know you liked to bowl,” I say as we lace up our bowling shoes.
    â€œThere are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she says with a playful smile.
    I realize it’s true. I also sense that something about our relationship has changed. It’s not just that I’m almost as tall as she is and wear the same size shoes. It’s as if we’ve reached a new level in the way we relate to each other. We’re still mother and daughter, of course, but now it’s almost like we’re friends, too—or could be if we weren’t so far apart all the time. Suddenly I long to learn all those things about her that I don’t know, such as the fact that she can clip a dog’s toenails and calm a nervous cat. And I realize I want her to get to know me, too.
    David comes over with a huge plate of nachos and a cardboard tray of sodas from the snack bar. “It’s on the house!” he announces, impressed.
    â€œAh, one of the perks of fame!” Mom says dramatically, pulling off a big wad of chips and gooey cheese from the plate. Nachos are one of my secret weaknesses. Who knew they were Mom’s, too?
    As Maggie writes our names on the score sheet, Mom snares a swirly blue bowling ball. “Prepare to get creamed,” she announces. She stares down the lane, takes a few steps, and rolls the ball.
    Crash! A strike on her first roll.
    â€œWhoa!” Maggie exclaims. I’m so unathletic that Maggie probably never guessed my mother might have athletic skills. A competitive gleam shines in my cousin’s eyes. “How’d you do that, Aunt Rose?”
    Mom grins. “I used to bowl in a league when I lived here. If you think Ambler’s small now, you should have seen it when I was a kid. There was nothing else to do in the winter besides bowl!”
    We play several games, switching partners each time, because everybody wants to be on Mom’s team. When Maggie pairs up with Mom against David and me, they hammer us so badly that David and I simply devote our turns to inventing crazy new styles of rolling the ball while Maggie and Mom laugh hysterically at us. It makes me feel good to see that the other kids like my mother.

    That evening after dinner, Gran turns to me. “Zoe, why don’t you and Rose take Sneakers for a walk? Maggie and I will clean up.”
    I glance out the window. There are dark clouds in the distance. “It looks like it might rain.”
    â€œSo take an umbrella. Sneakers needs the exercise. And I’m sure Rose would enjoy seeing the old neighborhood.” She gives me a pointed, don’t-argue-about-it look.
    OK, I get it—this is where Mom and I are supposed to have some time alone together.
    I go to get the leash.

    â€œSneakers! Cool it!” The walk is more like a drag—as in Sneakers dragging me down the street, acting up, and ignoring my commands.
    I want Mom to see how special he is and love him as much as I do. He would pick this moment to misbehave.
    But Mom doesn’t seem to notice. She’s talking a mile a minute about the new house, how I’ve grown, her job, my hair, the new school, her agent. Mom’s always been the chatty type—she can charm anybody with her sparkling conversation—but she’s setting a new world record for words per minute.
    It couldn’t be that she’s nervous now that we’re alone together, could it?
    I, on the other hand, haven’t said a word for ten minutes. Does she notice? After all, back in Manhattan she used to take me everywhere, so I met actors, producers, restaurant chefs, all kinds of VIPS, and I’ve learned how to talk