Notes on a Near-Life Experience by Olivia Birdsall

and mean things I know she's said about me. “And my brother isn't gay.” Beautiful. Way to stick it to her. That'll show her, Mia.
    For a moment, Kiki looks scared and embarrassed, but in a millisecond her face has turned back to stone. When she speaks, her voice is even. “I think I'd be a better judge of that than you would, sweetie. How nice of Julian to ask you. He must really be looking out for you… with everything that's been going on with your family and all.”
    How does Kiki know anything about my family? I am too stunned to say anything.
    Ana comes to my rescue. “Is that why guys ask girls to prom, then, Kiki? And you've been asked twice already?”
    The ability to be catty and cruel must be genetic; I've watched enough reality television, talk shows, and soap operas to have picked it up by now if it's a skill you can learn, but I can't think of anything to say. I'm outmatched.
    “I think I forgot my water bottle,” I say as I retreat.
    In the girls' locker room, I imagine what I could have said to Kiki, how I could have won. I think about my mother, how she stayed in her room all day when my father left, even though she had asked him to leave. Maybe I've inherited more than just her nose and eyes.

W HEN I WAS FOUR YEARS OLD, MY DAD SPENT AN ENTIRE afternoon trying to teach me the Greek alphabet. He was reading an old book in Greek for graduate school; I asked him what it was, and he decided to teach me the Greek alphabet. He taught it to me as a song, to the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and we sang it together to my mom and Allen that night. I only remember the first four letters now, but I remember clearly how it felt to hold Dad's hand and sing.

M Y DAD E-MAILED US FROM P ERU TO TELL US HE HAD A SUR -prise for us and that he wanted us all to meet for dinner the night after he got back.
    “Maybe he bought me a llama. I Googled Peru and it said a lot about llamas. I saw some pictures. Llamas look like a cross between camels and ponies… and ostriches,” Keatie says as we drive to the restaurant.
    Allen laughs. “I doubt he bought you a llama, Keater. He probably brought us a bunch of hideous sweaters, and I bet his surprise is something like he wants to take us all to Peru this summer. If we're lucky it'll be that he wants to move there.”
    Since Dad moved out, he has ignored Al. I mean, we've all seen a decline in Dad-attention, except for Keatie, maybe,who insists on having daily conversations with my dad about anything she can think of just so she can keep him on the phone, but it's worse with Al and Dad. They always had trouble getting along before, but now it's like they're having some kind of silent face-off.
    “Prepare to be llama-fied,” Al tells us when we arrive at the restaurant.
    Allen steels his face when we get out of the car. He looks like he's about to be tortured by terrorists looking for government secrets.
    We tell the hostess we're supposed to meet my dad.
    “Right,” she says. “They're waiting for you. Follow me, please.”
    I don't understand why she said “they” until I see the table she is leading us to. My dad, tanner than normal, is talking to a woman sitting next to him at the table.
    Dad stands when he sees us. “Kids… hello. Good to see you.” He takes the woman's hand and she stands up. “This is Paloma.” He acts as if this should mean something to us.
    We stand there, quiet.
    She reaches toward us to shake our hands. “I am Paloma. Of Peru.”
    Keatie takes her hand and shakes it limply.
    I put my hand out to shake Paloma's; Al shoves his in his pocket.
    Dads glowers at Al and gestures toward the table. “Well, come on, have a seat. Let's order.”
    We slowly take our seats. Keatie insists on sitting next to my dad, wedging herself in between him and the Peruvian, who I end up sitting next to. She smiles hopefully at me, and I smile wanly back. Allen sits next to me.
    “Why is she here?” Keatie asks as soon as she is seated. “Is