An Imperfect Process by Mary Jo Putney

space. "Hi. Good book?"
    The girl looked up. She was not pretty. Thick glasses distorted her dark eyes, and her face was thin and wary. "My father murdered my mother and then killed himself," she said in a flat voice. "You can go away now." Her gaze returned to her book.
    Val's jaw dropped, which of course was exactly the reaction Lyssie wanted. Mastering her shock, she said, "That's a real conversation-stopper, but I don't see why what happened to your parents means I should go away. I admit that a good book is usually more fun than anything, but this is a picnic. Meeting new people can also be fun."
    The girl looked up again. "My parents weren't married, so I'm a bastard."
    Val guessed that Lyssie had been taunted, rejected, and singled out so often that she had decided to do the rejecting herself. The combination of belligerence and vulnerability touched Val's heart. "That gives us something in common. My parents weren't married, either."
    "You're a bastard, too?"
    "Yes, though my mother preferred to call me a love child, which means the same but sounds nicer." Wanting to retain the girl's interest, Val added, "We have something else in common—crazy curly hair. Being illegitimate never caused me any trouble, but this hair was the bane of my existence when I was your age." She tugged on a lock. "As curly as yours, and red-orange like a carrot. I stood out in a crowd like an orange sheep."
    "Now that you're grown-up, why don't you do something with it? Straighten it. Color it."
    "I could, but I don't want to. I've learned to like it this way. When I want to look respectable at work, I pull it back and look very mean." She demonstrated, pulling her hair behind her head and donning a mock scowl. Then she released her hair to bounce around her shoulders. "When I let it go, I can look like a free spirit or a rebel. So be grateful—you have hair that's an instant signal system."
    Lyssie's brief smile vanished. "I'm not a rebel."
    "No? You're here reading a book when the herd is over there, having seconds on dessert and playing group games. That makes you at least a bit of a rebel."
    The thin shoulders shrugged. Taking another tack, Val peered at the book to read the title. "Ah, the fourth Harry Potter. Good choice. Isn't the series great?"
    For the first time, the dark eyes gave Val full attention. "You've read the Harry Potter books?"
    "I sure have. They work on so many levels. Good stories, good characters, powerful themes, good writing, and humor. That's why readers of all ages like them."
    Lyssie was definitely engaged. "Do you read other fantasy books?"
    "They're my favorite leisure reading." Val hesitated, then decided to make it more personal. "Fantasy is about the struggle of good and evil, and good usually wins. I'm a lawyer so sometimes my job is also about good and evil, but real life gets pretty complicated and I don't always know if I'm on the right side. Reading fantasy novels is kind of like taking a shower to wash away the dust of the day."
    She thought that might be a little over Lyssie's head, but the little girl was nodding thoughtfully. This was one smart kid.
    "I want to be a writer," Lyssie said. "In books, the endings come out right."
    Unlike real life. No one should have to endure what this little girl had suffered. "I know a writer, and she says that loving to read is the first step toward writing. The more you read, the better a foundation you have. In other words, as you read, don't just relax and enjoy the story, but think about what works and what doesn't."
    Lyssie's face lit up, making her almost pretty. "I do that already." She launched into an analysis of several books she had recently read. Though Val had read only the Potter books, it sounded as if the girl had a good eye for storytelling.
    When Lyssie's flow of words slowed, Val said, "Are you interested in getting a Big Sister, or are you here only because someone made you come?"
    Lyssie shrugged again. "Gramma asked me to give it a try."
    So