Alan looked up from his blueprints when he heard his wife open the front door. "Hi sweetheart. How was the PTA meeting?"
"Fine," answered Margaret, shortly.
Uh-Oh. Alan had been married plenty long enough to know his wife was unhappy. With him? He looked around, and his eyes fell upon his blueprints. He fancied he had found an answer. "I'll move these blueprints as soon as I'm finished here honey," he promised.
"That would be good," said Margaret, absently, her gaze already skewing toward their sons who were both engrossed in that ridiculous wrestling. How Don and Charlie (especially Charlie!) could be so enthralled in something so ludicrous, Alan didn't know. But it was obviously one of the boys Margaret was upset with. Probably Don, Alan thought. It usually was Don. Alan sighed, wondering what his first-born had done THIS time.
"Don!" called Margaret, "come here for a moment, please. I want to talk with you." Nothing too bad, thought Alan, hopefully, or it would be 'DONALD ALAN EPPES! GET IN HERE
RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN!" Don, moving slowly to obey, was no less skilled than his father at reading his mother. Part of him was anxiously scanning his mother's face, trying to gauge how much trouble he was in. Another part of him was reviewing recent transgressions, wondering which one had been found out. Skipping school yesterday? And one day last week? And the week before that? Wow. He was cutting school a lot. But she would be more angry if it was that. In fact, Don wouldn't be surprised if Dad got out the old paddle for that, even if he was fifteen. Look how he had gone ballistic over Don making fun of a gardener last summer.
Keep your mouth shut, Don told himself. Find out what she knows, then defend yourself.
Don stopped a couple of feet from his mother and shuffled his feet nervously, "Yes?"
Margaret breathed deeply and asked, "Why don't you ever talk to Suzanne Hook?"
"Huh?"
"Why don't you speak to Suzanne Hook?"
Oh, he hadn't misheard. Don stared blankly at his mother. She stared back, waiting for an answer.
Don routinely felt like an idiot compared to Charlie, and now he had a good example of why. For some reason, his moronic brain decided NOW would be a good time to review a vocabulary lesson: baffle, B A F F L E, to confuse, confound, or puzzle.
Why did his brain choose to remember this now, and not at a time when it would actually be beneficial? Like, say, during a test? On the other hand he had to hand it to his brain, baffled pretty much summed up how he felt.
Like, who the hell was Suzanne Hook, and why did his mom give a rat's ass if he spoke to her or not?
Don looked to his father for enlightenment. Alan looked blankly back at him. Yep, Dad looked just as baffled as Don felt.
"Well?" Margaret snapped.
Don jumped, and realized his mother was still waiting for an answer.
"Uh... 'cause I don't know her?"
Wow. That sounded lame, even to Don's own ears.
"What do you mean you don't know her?"
"I mean I don't know her."
"Don, you HAVE to know her," insisted Margaret.
"No I don't!" shot back her son, somewhat exasperated.
"Don, you've gone to school with her since kindergarden!"
"I have?"
Of course you have!"
"How do you know?"
"Because her mother and I have been attending PTA meetings since then! She always talks about Suzanne, and I always talk about you and Charlie."
I bet you talk about Charlie a lot more than you do me, thought Don, sourly.
Margaret continued, "Thelma and I were talking tonight, and she said Suzanne is mortified that you never speak to her. I was mortified to think my popular son is a snob."
Don, stung, protested, "I am not! I wouldn't be popular if I was! People don't like snobs!"
"Than why won't you talk to Suzanne?"
"I don't know her! What does she look like?"
"How should I know?" asked Margaret, with some asperity.
"Well, I don't know either! Are you sure she's in any of my classes?"
"She's in your literature and history classes!"
Don tried desperately to pair a face with the name, and came up empty.
"Mom, I honestly don't know her! Why doesn't she talk to me?"
It was a good counter-arguement, and Margaret was too good a lawyer not to recognize it.
"I think she's shy. But you're not. I want you to find out who she is and talk to her."
"What am I suppose to say?"
"How about 'hi'? Don, please, try to be nice and draw her out of her shell a little, that's all. You don't have to date her or anything."
GREAT. Not only was he responsible for his nerdy little brother, now he was evidently responsible for some wallflower as well. Don just hoped she wasn't too strange or ugly.
"Fine. I'll try."
His mom beamed at him, "Thank-you Don. You could help her a lot." Looking thoughtful, she went on, "Maybe Charlie could help too.
"Charlie!" she called her youngest, "come here sweetie!"
Charlie, ten, came running, "Yes, Mom?"
"Look, Suzanne Hook is shy, So I want you to make a point of talking to her, okay? Just say hello."
Charlie looked at his mother, baffled. He looked at his big brother, who shrugged, helplessly. But Charlie was not a genius for nothing.
"Sure Mom, I can do that," agreed Charlie.
"Thanks sweetheart!"
"But Mom,...who IS she?"