Pamela's anxiety was rising as her father drove the car up the ramp onto Route 128. Her anxiety was partially rooted in her cat Lucy's litter of kittens. They'd been born on Christmas Eve in her room. The other half of her anxiety came in the form of the rain. Pamela hated the highway whenever it rained; nobody seemed to get anywhere, not at home and certainly not on the road.

"It looks like we might get held up. I have a couple of shortcuts in mind." Her father, Robert said. Pamela nodded. Pulling down the visor, she checked herself in the mirror; seeing that her hat and hair clips were in place, she put the visor back up. Christmas break had been turbulent; her mother had a psychiatric episode on Boxing Day, leaving Robert and Pamela alone. By the end of that day, Pamela herself was having problems.

"I'm worried about mom." Pamela said, showing concern for her mother; her symptoms be damned. She didn't hate her mom, she hated how her mom acted. The way Ellen dictated Pamela's daily life, however, was something that she'd taken too far in recent months. 

"Your mother refuses to help herself, Pam. I still worry about her, but if she's going to act like this; then she needs to be somewhere else." Robert had handled Ellen's manic episodes as best as he could, now it had become too much for anyone in the house to manage. When Ellen screamed at Pam that morning, Robert pulled the plug.

Deciding that the traffic was too much, Robert exited the highway and wound his way through the inner suburbs of Boston. Pam knew the way. Their route had them through Lexington and Waltham before crossing the Charles into Newton. The rain streaked down as they passed through downtown Waltham. Main Street was deserted save for a few die hard pedestrians.

"Is mom going to be okay?" Pam asked as Robert turned onto Moody Street.

"I hope so." He sighed. Robert hated seeing both his wife, Ellen, and his daughter Pamela impacted. Crossing the Charles, they made their way towards Newton. Ten minutes later, they passed over the Massachusetts Turnpike. The terrain was getting hillier now. During the summer, Pamela went to summer camp at the Wells Avenue YMCA in Oak Hill Park. They crossed into West Roxbury.

"I know where we are, dad." She quipped. She remembered a field trip to the Wilson Mountain Reservation last summer; one of the brighter moments. They'd crossed back over the Charles into Dedham, now. One of Pamela's rivals at camp lived there. Pamela turned up her nose at the thought of going through Dedham.

"This place is gross! It looks so run down." Pamela quipped as they headed south towards Route 128.

"I'm from Dedham, Pam." Robert chided.

"That's right, I'm sorry, dad." Pamela apologized. She had a nasty habit of letting out rather judgmental remarks about places, but never people. By now they'd rejoined the fray on Route 128.

"The traffic isn't going to let up. I'm going to take us through Randolph, Holbrook, and Abington."

"You know all the shortcuts, dad." Pamela replied. If she only knew what her father truly did for a living, she'd have more appreciation for his knack of finding shortcuts. He was one of the most experienced bondsmen on the North Shore, after all. The drive ahead of them allowed both of them to loosen up somewhat.

"Do you want to go bowling after your appointment this afternoon?" He asked. Pam's eyes lit up.

"Is the pope catholic, dad?" She asked, knowing that would elicit a laugh from him.

"I know a great alley in Plymouth. Once that meeting is over, we're hitting the lanes!" He said.

The first appointment was over; now it was on to meeting Dr. Whitney. Robert liked Dr. Whitney; he found her direct and up front, and she had good bedside manner with Pamela. On this appointment, she asked Pam some rather personal questions.

"Did your mother impact your break in any way?"

"The day after Christmas. She must've woken up angry that morning." Pam replied apprehensively, as if she was going to get in trouble.

"Did she physically hurt you?"

"No. My dad was there, we went out to dinner afterward."

"She never laid a finger on Pam." Robert articulated.

Dr. Whitney sat for a moment, a furrow developing on her brow. Her 44 years evident as the light hit every wrinkle.

"These next questions are for your father." She commanded. Pamela tried to stop fidgeting, but struggled to do so.

"Mr. Cordis, have you noticed any changes in Pamela's behavior?"

"She was a little moody after the incident with her mother, but I chalk that up to the usual teenage issues."

Dr. Whitney observed Pamela's fidgeting. She was taking the hem of her skirt and rubbing it in her palm.

"Has her fidgeting remained constant or has it increased?" She seemed to demand in a tone that when she was Pamela's age, got her whatever she wanted.

"It's remained the same, Dr. Whitney." He remarked.

She scribbled something down on her notepad.

"I'll send her prescriptions over to the campus pharmacy. I'm introducing Ritalin to her medications. Have a nice afternoon and welcome back, Pamela." Dr. Whitney declared.

Pam was ready to go bowling.

"Are you ready, Pamela?" Robert asked. He, too, wanted to get as far away from this office as possible. Deep in his mind, though, he seemed to remember Dr. Whitney from somewhere else. He filed the thought away, like some project.

Robert and Pam pulled into the lot of Bowl-o-Mat. Opening the door and slamming it, Pamela raced her dad to the front door. Once inside, they seemed to be transported back thirty years; everything was yellow and nicotine stained. The Pepsi branded signage above the front counter was gradually losing its lettering.

"Hey, Bob!" Greeted the counter attendant, a middle-aged man named “Jake” according to his name tag. Robert leaned in and began speaking in a low, hushed tone after noticing Pamela standing near him.

"You've got two targets in the immediate area; Carver and Halifax." Jake began low. He was about to continue, when Robert leaned in even closer.

"Can we talk about this later? I have my kid with me!" Robert commanded. Taking notice of Pamela, Jake nodded.

Pam got the first strike. Her mood elevated, she encouraged her father to get a strike. Robert ended up getting a spare.

"I'll be right back, Sunny." Robert cried. He hadn't called Pamela "Sunny" in a few months now. He was heading over to the counter get both of them something to drink, the heat inside the bowling alley seemed to be turned to its highest setting. As she waited, Pamela took notice of her surroundings; she'd been here before, prior to Christmas. She'd come here with the other girls in her class. The highlight of that visit was when Josie Stimpson, a day student bowled a nearly perfect game. Pamela gained a new respect for Josie that day.

Robert had returned with two large Pepsi's. The cola proving to be a nice palate cleanser compared to the coffee he'd drank this morning, and pregame for Pamela. 

"Hey, dad, I bet I can be just as good as you." Pamela called out to Robert.

"You're already good enough, Sunny. You should ease up on your competitive nature. Not everything needs to be a race." He replied. She knew he was right. Earlier in the school year, she'd been reprimanded by one of her teachers for making it nearly impossible to play dodgeball.

Another strike, this time going to Robert.

"It just takes practice, Pam." He joked. Pam decided to try to one up her father. She got a spare, but let it ride.

"Can we go bowling when I'm home next weekend?" She pleaded.

"Of course." He replied. Pamela knew he'd say yes.

"Thanks, dad." In her mind, she was already preparing for the event at school; a social gathering, perhaps she'd make an appearance. Pamela would rather be upstairs reading on this rainy Friday night than mingling with her classmates; yet something in her told her to attend.

Pamela returned to her room. Making her bed and preparing her bookshelf for the coming semester, she quietly collected her thoughts. Picking up her copy of The Song of The Lioness, she placed it on her bed; she intended to read later, if the party wasn't to her standard. She needed to distract herself from everything that had transpired over the Christmas break and a novel seemed to be the perfect getaway. Hearing something from the other room, she got up and walked into the hall. She thought she heard her classmate, Sarah Newstead. Walking past, she caught sight of her.

“Hey, Sarah!” She called out.

“Hi, Pam, how was Christmas?” Sarah asked. Pamela rolled her eyes; she couldn't go into detail even if she wanted to; her mom's outburst still vivid in her mind.

“You don't want to know.” Was all Pam could muster.

“I got this new hat and hair accessories. Do you like my new hair clips?” Pam inquired as she ran her raven black hair through her fingers. The light catching on her braces.

“That hat's cool. You only got those two things?”

“Don't be a dork, Sarah, of course I got more stuff. My cat, Lucy had kittens on Christmas Eve!” Pam squealed.

“Four beautiful, tiny babies. One gray tabby, a tortoiseshell, a calico, and finally an all black cat. They're in my room at home. I hope they eventually find good homes.”  She continued.

“I'll catch up tonight at the party.” Sarah replied, sighing as she did so.

“What's eating you, Sarah?” Pam asked, moving closer to the bed.

“I was told I was getting a roommate. I see their stuff is here, but they aren't. I think it's a trick.”

“She probably went out with her family. You just got back, right? She was probably here earlier.” Pam reasoned. Sarah always saw her as the voice of reason; a moment of clarity in a storm of confusion.

“I'm glad you're back, Pam.” Sarah sighed. She hugged Pam before she left the room.

Leaving Sarah's room, she headed back to hers. A glance out the window revealed that it was still raining. Putting on her coat, Pamela began heading for the Social Hall. Reaching the doors, she braced herself for the onslaught of music and noise. Entering, she stood in line. Pamela shifted nervously on her feet as the line barely moved. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the line was moving again. Passing the table, Pamela headed for the corner. Finding the chair, she claimed it as her own. She took a sip from the can of Coke and waited. The song “Find Another Fool” by Quarterflash played. Pam hated Quarterflash; she found the saxophone solos in nearly every song unbearable. She knew her other classmates like the group, and kept her opinion to herself.

By now Sarah and Alison had caught up to her. Engrossed in chit-chat, hunger began to gnaw at Pam. They decided to head to the cafeteria to grab a slice of pizza. Their way seemed to be clear until a crowd of 6th grade students showed up. The way they took over the hallway and dance floor made Pamela anxious. Pushing past them, they made their way to the doors leading to the cafeteria. They opened the doors. In the hush that followed, the three of them heard the sound of crying. Pamela played it off first, chalking it up to nerves. A second went by, then Pamela heard it again

“Do you hear that?” Pamela whispered.

“Who is that?” Alison asked.

They walked closer to the girl. Sitting on the floor, legs drawn close to her chest and rocking back and forth she felt pathetic and puny.

“Are you new?” Pamela asked. The girl nodded.

She felt bad for this new student. She'd heard that a new student was going to be arriving after Christmas. Pamela had expected someone more haggard and put through the ringer, perhaps an upper school student. They walked toward the cafeteria, potential new friend in tow.

“You'll like it here, Amy.” Pamela and Sarah said in unison. They were never one to finish each other's sentences, but when it happened the group took it as a sign.

“Let's go get some pizza.” Pamela cajoled. As the unofffical group leader, she led the way.