Finally she reached the pick-up point for Brandon and Brook and the two got in, bickering as usual.

“Hurry up, stupid,” Brook said, banging at her younger brother’s butt with her book bag.

“I’m going,” Brandon said, irritably. “Quit pushing.”

“Quiet, Brook,” Barbara said. “Brandon, get in.”

The seven-year-old finally negotiated the seats and collapsed with a theatric sigh as his eleven-year-old sister tossed her much heavier bag in the SUV with a thump and scrambled aboard. Both of the younger children had inherited their father’s darker looks and were so nearly alike in height that they were often mistaken for twins.

When the attending teacher had shut the door, Barbara pulled out, following the line of cars.

“Mom,” Allison said, “I want to go to the dance after the game Friday night.”

“No,” Barb replied, braking as a car pulled out right in front of her. “May the Lord bless you,” she muttered at the driver.

“Why not?” Allison snapped. “I’ve got to go to the game anyway. And everybody else will be going to the dance! You can’t make me just come home!”

“Because I said no,” Barb said, calmly. “And no means no.”

“You’re impossible, mother,” Allison said, folding her arms and pouting.

“Yes, I am,” Barbara said.

Except for the regular argument in the back, the drive home was quiet.

“Get ready for tomorrow,” Barb said as they were going in the door to the two-story house. “Brook, get your dance bag. Allison-”

“I know, mother,” Allison spat, headed for the stairs. “Change into my work-out clothes.”