My mother was definitely not excited about my friendship with Leon or my volunteer work at the shelter.

"Couldn't you find something more dignified?" she asked over her morning newspaper. "Working at a place like that so close to Pleasantville is just wrong, Laura. It encourages the wrong sort of people to infiltrate the area. Before you know it, they'll be swarming all over our town."

"Mom, it's not like that!" I insisted. "They are nice people. Just people with problems. But I guess you couldn't understand that."

Mom was never subtle.

"Oh, look!" she continued, ignoring me. "Malcolm Landgrab is hosting the Prom this year at his mansion." She pointed at a photo of a huge house on a hill surrounded by iron gates. "Mr. Malcolm Landgrab, scion of the Landgrabs of Pleasantville, is graciously hosting the Pleasantville Preparatory School Prom May 18th. Mr. Landgrab's son, Malcolm Binginham Landgrab graduates this June as the school's football star and most likely to succeed young business man of the future. His twin sister, Bunny Quincy Landgrab is bound to be chosen prom queen..." her voice trailed off.

"Well, I'm not going, so who cares?" I replied.

She sighed. "I guess you wouldn't. I realize it's difficult to find a date this late but maybe I can help. There's someone who might take you. That's IF we can find a dress that can fit.

"No, don't!" I protested. "My friends and I don't do proms."

"Your friends? I guess you mean that Jamaican boy FRIEND of yours."


Mom butts in.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's my friend. Not that there is anything wrong if we wanted to date, but we are just friends. I don't want to go to any stupid prom."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Every girl WANTS to go to the prom and wear pretty clothes. Now shush." She walked into the living room and shut the door behind her.

I heard her whispering with someone on the other end and she said "Jamaican boy" several time. "What a shame!" she exclaimed.

"Stop it! Mom!," I demanded, bursting in the living room. "Hang up that phone right now."

"Talk to you later, Martha," said Mom, turning to me angrily. " How dare you!"

"What?" I demanded. "Stop planning my life. I don't need you telling me what to do or feel or finding me dates."

"Laura, you're hopeless," she retorted. "Go find some cake. That will always be there for you because I'm not going to waste my time anymore."

Mom is angry again!