“. . . thinks he’s the elephant’s eyebrows, all right,” Vera sneered. “And he used to go with Mabel Fiske. Mabel Fiske!”

Mabel Fiske, Vivian thought to herself.

“I can’t believe you bobbed your hair,” Ruby said, unconcerned with Mabel Fiske and who she used to go with.

Vivian rolled her eyes as she heard Vera say, “Well, believe it.” Vera hadn’t been able to shut up about her hair since she’d done it. She thought she was sooooo mature now. Vivian could picture Vera on the other side of the wall, smiling coyly and fingering the edges of her fashionable hair.

“Sylvia Emerich bobbed hers,” Opal piped in. “And then she had to quit school to get married.”

Sylvia Emerich, Vivian thought to herself, and then wondered if Vera would have to quit school because of her hair. But she wasn’t getting married.

“Well,” Ruby added, “that wasn’t the only reason Sylvia had to quit school.”

“No.” Vera’s response was low and disbelieving.

“Positutely,” Ruby said.

“No!” Vera exclaimed again, this time so loudly that the word came through the wall as an almost forceful blow.

It was so loud that Vivian fell away from the wall and the glass bounced softly onto the quilt. She’d almost tumbled right off the side of the bed. Boy, is Vera ever loud. What was the other reason Sylvia Emerich had to leave school? Vivian steadied herself, then carefully crept back to her spot, picked up the glass, leaned back against the wall, and pressed her ear harder against the base of the glass. Ruby’d lowered her voice by this time, though, and Vivian couldn’t make out what she was saying. She narrowed her eyes into a squint.

“What are you doing?”

Vivian gasped and whipped around, causing the bedsprings to bounce and squeak crazily, as the glass again dropped onto the quilt behind her. Her older brother Henry was standing in the bedroom doorway with his thumbs hooked in his suspenders and a sly smile dancing around his lips. Vivian hadn’t even heard the door open.

“What are you doing?” she shot back.

“I asked you first.”

“None of your beeswax!” She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted around on her knees to make sure he couldn’t see the glass.

“Well, when you’re finished with ‘none of my beeswax,’ Mom needs to wash that glass.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of her right hip, before making an about-face to go back downstairs.

Vivian huffed and considered picking up the glass and throwing it at her brother, but knew she’d get the wooden spoon for that. Their mother knew exactly how many glasses, and plates, and bowls were supposed to be in the kitchen at any given time. She didn’t like it when they went missing, but she really hated it when they broke. “These things all cost money!” Vivian wondered how much it would cost to buy herself her own glass. I’ll have my own telephone before Vera does.