The lights dimmed, and as slides filled the screen, I was acutely conscious of the women around me. On one side, I kept catching a hiss or giggle from the never-ending whispered conversation. On the other, Sandra and Elizabeth kept their gaze on the speaker.

In this roomful of strangers, I was so lonely for a real friend.

Finally the speaker finished. As the lights came back up, the president took her place. “Don’t go anywhere, ladies. You may have been wondering about the paper in the middle of the table. We’re making origami stars to support literacy awareness. After you ladies transform these little squares into gorgeous works of art, I’ll collect them, our volunteers will give them a shiny coating and some hanging loops, and we’ll have them up for sale around the holidays. All proceeds go straight to building literacy here in Sugar Land. Directions are up here on the screen. And this whole month we’re collecting books. I’m putting a big ole bin on my porch, so you can drop them off anytime. Thank you so much for all you do!”

She stepped down, and the noise level in the room swelled to fill her absence. I reached for a sheet of paper, finally confident that this was an activity I could do well. One of our museum events had been origami based, and I’d loved the way following the directions transformed a two-dimensional sheet into a mini sculpture. A glance at the instructions confirmed that this star wasn’t terribly complicated. I had just made my first fold when Sandra said, “Liz, I can’t figure this out. Can you get me started?”

Maybe Elizabeth winced when Sandy used her nickname, but she still said, “Sure. Why don’t I make the first three folds, and then you can pop it out into the star shape?”

Elizabeth pulled a few pieces of paper closer and began to fold them. The two women to my left hadn’t touched the origami. They had turned their chairs away from us to better talk with people from the other table. I popped my first star into shape and felt the same warmth I’d felt yesterday when I’d helped Rahmia. This was what I needed, to be proactive, to participate, and not just in this literacy project.

I steeled myself, glanced up at Sandy, and asked, “So, how long have you lived here?”

A slight arch to her eyebrow indicated that my question was a little too abrupt, but she said, “About seven years. There have been so many changes to the neighborhood. You wouldn’t even have recognized it back then. Where did you buy?”

If Michael and I had been renting, would she even deign to speak to me? I told her my neighborhood, and she countered, “Not the Sullivan house?”

I hesitated, confused.