Anastasia at This Address by Lois Lowry Page A

Springfield and it wasn't totally boring.
    Amazing, how easy it was to make adult conversation. Anastasia hadn't ever tried it before.
    Next she turned to her right, where Uncle Tim was sitting. She said, "I understand you drive a Porsche."
    "That's right. Have you ever ridden in a Porsche?" She hadn't; but now she had
another
adult conversation, and it wasn't totally boring either, except that she had never understood a single thing about horsepower and never would. What a great discovery, Anastasia thought. All you have to do is say something about the other person, and then
they
talk and you don't need to. She glanced across the table and saw that Sonya was doing the same thing. She was listening attentively and nodding her head as the usher on her left told her about medical school.
    The food—shrimp cocktail, followed by lamb—wasn't a problem. She liked all of it.
    The forks weren't a problem. There was just the right number, and she was pretty sure she was using the right ones, and no one seemed to be checking to see if she was, anyway.
    And wine wasn't a problem. Anastasia had worried about whether she was supposed to drink wine if they served it, and what her parents would say if she did. But the waiter poured wine into the glasses in front of each adult, and ginger ale into the glasses of the junior bridesmaids. He did it so quietly, without making a big deal, that no one even noticed that hers was ginger ale, and Anastasia was relieved.
    She had worried that she wouldn't be able to think of anything else to say to Uncle Tim after she mentioned the Porsche. She didn't know anything else about him except that he led a glamorous life, and she didn't think she could say casually, "I understand that you lead a glamorous life."
    But when she noticed that he held his hand over the top of his wine glass and shook his head "no" to the waiter, it gave her a topic of conversation.
    "Are you a recovering alcoholic?" Anastasia asked politely.
    Uncle Tim looked startled. "No," he said, "as a matter of fact I'm not. But to tell you the truth—" He lowered his voice and glanced around to be sure no one else was listening. "I saw the label on the bottle," he whispered, "and it was a terrible wine. So I decided to skip it."
    "No kidding?" Anastasia said. "I didn't know you could tell, from the label. I thought you had to taste it, and if it was terrible, you just got stuck swallowing it and maybe throwing up later."
    Uncle Tim laughed, and explained a little about wine to Anastasia.
    When he finished, she turned again to the lawyer on her left. "Are you enjoying your wine?" she asked.
    He made a slight face. "Not really," he said.
    "It's not a good year," Anastasia explained. "There was too much rain in France that year."
    He looked intrigued, so she explained to him about grapes needing the right amount of sun. She took another bite of lamb after she had finished the explanation.
    This is so fabulous, Anastasia thought. I'm so good at this. Making conversation and everything. Wait till I tell Mom and Dad how well I did.
    Suddenly she was startled by a clinking sound. She looked up. The groom's father was tapping his fork against his water glass. Other people started doing the same thing.
    Anastasia didn't have any idea what they were doing. But dutifully she tapped her fork against her glass.
    Everyone stopped talking, and the groom's father stood up with his wine glass in his hand. "A toast," he announced in a loud voice, "to the bride and groom! Long life and great happiness to them!"
    Everyone raised their glasses, so Anastasia held her ginger ale in the air and took a sip when they did.
    The dinner plates were taken away, and dessert arrived. Now there were more clinking glasses and more toasts, some of them sentimental, some of them silly.
    Finally Jeff stood up and toasted the bride. "To Kirsten!" he said, and everyone clapped while Kirsten beamed at him. "My solemn vow that I will bring her breakfast in bed every