Miriam didn’t say anything right away. I hate it when she does that, because I know it means she wants me to think, and sometimes I’m just not in the mood.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I wanted to look at my face in the mirror, to see what I was feeling, because I wasn’t sure. But my face just looked like my face. For once, it wasn’t saying anything.

When I came back, I said, “Sometimes I can tell my mom has been crying.” It had happened two times, once in fourth grade and once at the beginning of fifth. Both times, she had come out of the bathroom pretending she had just washed her face, but I could tell.

Miriam waited.

I said, “It’s like I’m not supposed to say anything. And I don’t even want to say anything. It’s like—” I stopped.

Miriam waited.

“It’s almost like I feel mad at her.”

She nodded.

“Which is really mean,” I said.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because it’s mean to get angry at someone for crying.”

Miriam said, “It isn’t mean, Bea.”

I waited. Miriam taught me to wait if you want the other person to say more.

She said, “It might be scary to think your mom has been crying.”

“But then I would be scared. Not mad.”

She waited.

I waited.

Then she said, “Remember how sometimes one feeling is behind another feeling?”

I shrugged.

She waited.

“So angry is behind afraid?” I said.

“Or maybe angry is in front of afraid. The angry kind of takes over.”

I said, “It’s like when two vowels go walking. The first one does the talking.”

Miriam smiled. “You lost me.”

So I explained it to her. Her face got really bright when I was talking, like she was happy. Maybe it’s tiring to be the one explaining everything all the time.

—

That night I spent my whole five minutes worrying about Sonia. She had her Skype account set to “Do Not Disturb” and she hadn’t answered my emails.

Sheila said to give her space. But I worried that if we gave her space, Sonia might decide it was easier to just forget about us.

The March Spelling Party