And I like kids. It’s sad Mom didn’t marry again and have more. Sometimes I wonder if she still loves my father—after all this time, all the pain. The only thing she got out of the whole deal was me. Not much of a prize. A baby sister to look after would have been cool. I work summers at the library—tons of toddlers and frazzled moms. I tried to help with the crafts a couple times, but the tykes got scared. Blind kids would be good.

I could find a blind high school to volunteer at and make a play for love now. Or maybe I’ll just go home, slam a sandwich, and hit the road so I’m not late for practice.

I drive myself these days. Mom always hated the drive—had to leave work early every Tuesday. The whole thing was doable when Bliss practiced once a week, but last fall, Terri, our director, decided she wanted to try to get us into the Choral Olympics this year and bumped up the practices to twice a week. Mom decided my driving skills were excellent and bought me an old Ford so I could drive myself. At least the orange isn’t off-the-lot bright. Looks like a dying pumpkin. Perfect to join my ugly stepsister gig. I named her Jeannette, nice and lovely so her feelings don’t get hurt. Misery does love company. Look at Scott and me.

Slushy sleet chases me all the way through Detroit. I’m way late. I hate March weather. Spring around here is dark, cold, and nasty. Gray rotting snowbanks that hang on as long as they can. Sleet and ice instead of pure-white winter snow.

Traffic is a mess tonight, and poor old Jeannette is gutless. Everybody cuts us off. I don’t ever dare try that. This is Detroit. I may be ugly, but I still want to live to sing another song.