The Meeting

She’d promised Mom. Why? To shut her up, of course. To quell the scorn in her whine, to feel older than five or six. So she was here. Or was she not here until she got in there? Out of the Astro. With those people. A fly blitzed the windshield wanting out. Stupid fly. She grabbed a cup from the rubbish and swatted, missed, spilled dregs on her shirt. She couldn’t go in. Mom would have to understand. But she wouldn’t. Who cared? She twisted the key, held breath to think it to start. Almost. Next time maybe. A rap on the window, she yelped, turned to face a Cheshire-cat grin. A girl about her age. “Hey! Are you new? Here for the meeting? Come on, I’ll show you around.” She rubbed at the spill, shook her head. “Come on in. Don’t worry about that. You’re welcome here.” Her heart wanted to hear. And Mom would be proud.