I should have had my lesson with Ms. Marion that morning, but since we were still on break, I didn’t have any excuse to put things off. When I got home from Keisha’s, Ma was standing in an ocean of bubble wrap. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and cleared my throat. “Ma,” I said, determined to force the words out, “can we talk?” Ma sighed. “Haven’t we done enough of that lately?” Wasn’t exactly the start I’d been hoping for. “It’s just . . . I’ve been thinking about that invitation. To the fund-raiser.” “And?” “And . . .” I want to say yes. “It’s exactly the type of thing Ms. Marion would want us to do, so it would be wrong to keep this from her. Don’t you think?” I could see the wariness in Ma’s entire body. She’d been packaging several small porcelain figurines, but now she set them down.
