The Girl with the Mermaid Hair by Delia Ephron Page B

because they looked like stumps. In an obvious way that was supposed to be subtle (Ethan’s mom scratched her head and Autumn’s feigned a yawn), they both considered him and then pivoted to view Sukie’s mom, now sitting quietly with one arm bent so her hand happened to block her face. But it didn’t. Anyone could see the hideous swelling, the bruising at its ugliest (involving yellow), and bits of the nose bandage. Sukie struggled to keep all expression washed from her face. Her parents matched. They went together in the worst possible way.
    She looked around. Nearly every person at the college prep meeting in the Cobweb cafeteria was finding an unobtrusive way to check out her parents. Ethan interlaced his fingers and stretched, peeking between his arms.
    She looks like someone punched her.
    Sukie’s own words came back to her.
    Like someone punched her.
    Sukie had been so focused on her mom, she’d forgotten her dad.
    She looks like someone punched her.
    Yes, she did. Like Sukie’s dad had punched her and she’d punched him back.
    The bars of lights striping the ceiling, lights that exposed every one of the seven grains in the bread that health-conscious Cobweb insisted on using for students’ sandwiches, also exposed Sukie’s mom as a battered wife.
    No wonder Vickers had detoured into sincerity at the sight of Sukie. The knuckle-sucking incident made sense now too. James had cut himself when he’d caught sight, not of Sukie, but of her dad standing behind her. Everyone saw the spa accident for the lie it was, and everyone knew about it because it was such a terrific lie, so juicy that it had spread through Cobweb like wildfire.
    Now the entire class thought they had discovered a hidden truth, only that truth was a lie too.
    Curiously and confusingly, in this lie that everyone believed—that her mom was battered and her dad the batterer—her dad came up slime. Slime again. How ironic, how spooky, how strange.
    Sukie’s arms popped with electricity as the jumps shot through her. She forgot her zombie disguise,sidled along the wall to the back of the cafeteria, and huddled at a table alone. Fortunately Mrs. Dintenfass, the guidance counselor, waved her arms, tapped the microphone, and announced it was time to begin. Parents quieted instantly, found seats, and started shushing kids who didn’t get how unbelievably important this meeting was.
    “It’s vital that your children distinguish themselves not only academically but in their extracurricular activities,” said Mrs. D.
    “Basically, colleges are looking for well-rounded students who are quirky and offbeat,” said Mr. Vickers. “In other words, it’s impossible to please them, so why try?”
    Parents laughed loudly, although the remark was barely worth a chuckle. They needed to laugh because they were wrecked with worry. Sukie laid her head down on her arms.
    Someone poked her.
    She turned her head and opened an eye. It was Mikey.
    “Did Dad hit Mom?” he asked.
    “No,” said Sukie.
    He nodded.
    “But some people think so.” She flopped up and slid over so he could sit.
    The questions at the meeting were endless. How many AP classes did Andrew need? How many times should Moira take her boards? Is it a good idea to have SAT tutoring? Safety schools? Soccer scholarships? “Keep your chins up and your Facebook pages clean,” Vickers said at one point. “Merely a life tip, nothing to do with college.” Kids and parents were fighting too. Frannie’s mom asked, “To maintain your career options, do you think it’s better to go to a liberal arts college?” and Frannie shouted from across the room, “I told you I’m going to art school,” and her mom called back, “I was just asking a question,” and Frannie shouted, “Don’t.”
    “I’m not going to college,” said Autumn. Her father stood up and said, “Excuse us,” and they left.
    Sukie’s parents hunted her down the minute the meeting was over. “Tell me again what you’re