It’s Saturday. I have arranged for my daughter to have a friend over. By text, Chloe’s mom and I have agreed that Chloe will come to our house at 1:00 pm.
“Operation Heather X.” That’s what it was called. It was nearly thirty years ago when my friends devised a plan, complete with code name, to exclude me.
As we heard my name called from the podium, my mom and I shared a look across the crowded middle-school auditorium. I’d won an art award, and it was hilarious.
