Free The Moment Keeper by Buffy Andrews Page B

is teaching, you can’t be talking. It’s disrespectful and rude. And it needs to stop.”
    Olivia looks down. “OK, I’ll try.”
    Grandma Cindy looks up from her knitting needles. “Sounds like someone else I know.” Grandma Cindy smiles at Elizabeth. “Go on. Tell her about it.”
    “Mom.”
    “No Mom me. You were a talker, too, and just like Libby you had to learn how to zip up during class.”
    Olivia looks at her mom. “So you liked talking, too?”
    “Did she ever,” Grandma Cindy says. “She was always spending recesses inside or staying after school. Like mother, like daughter.”
    “OK, yes, I did like to talk,” Elizabeth says. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Like your dad said, you can’t talk when you’re not supposed to. Not only will it impede your learning, because if you’re talking you’re not listening, but that of others.”
    “What’s impede mean?” Olivia asks.
    “Hamper. Hinder. Hurt. Not only will it hurt your learning but it will hurt the other boys and girls because you talking gets in the way of their listening.”
    Olivia chews her lower lip. “OK. I’ll try harder.”
    “That’s all we’re asking for, Libby. That you work on it,” Tom says. “We don’t expect you to become a silent wallflower because that’s just not who you are, but we do expect you to be respectful.”
    To me, Olivia was a forget-me-not with its five blue lobes and a bright yellow center. After you met her, you never forgot her. She had a contagious energy that endeared her to others and made them want to be her friend.
    I was a wallflower. Unlike Olivia, I never got in trouble for talking too much. In fact, I didn’t talk enough. My teachers thought something was wrong with me. They put me through a bunch of testing. Turned out I was smart, just quiet. Besides Rachel, I didn’t have any friends.
    I envied girls like Olivia who were so happy and carefree and outgoing. Just the other day I watched Olivia walk into the ballet studio and all of the girls rushed toward her. It was as if she were the queen bee and they were the worker bees. They couldn’t help but be attracted by her sunshiny optimism. Grandma told me once that I wear a frown like a piece of favorite clothing. She was right. I wish she had been wrong, but she was always right.
    Elizabeth loads Olivia’s costumes into the back seat of their tan Mercedes Benz. Tonight is Olivia’s dance recital, and she’s performing in numerous numbers – jazz, tap, ballet, modern.
    Olivia’s smile takes up most of her heart-shaped face. With her hair pulled back in a tight bun and eye shadow and mascara on, she looks older than nine.
    I’ve watched Olivia dance since she was three, and I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s on stage. And, as her moment keeper, I feel the greatest joy at these moments. I’m filled with intense warmth, not the fleeting kind that comes and goes, but a warmth that hangs on like a summer haze.
    Olivia and the stage are like a lock and key – they fit perfectly. When opened, everything else falls away except for Olivia, a whirl of movement so beautiful that it grabs your breath before you know it’s been taken. I have never seen someone dance as naturally as she dances. It’s no wonder that her parents have decided to enroll her in the most prestigious dance academy in the state. Even if it does require them to travel more. Olivia is that good, and they know it. All she wants to do is dance. That is her dream.
    I’ll never forget the time Rachel talked me into participating in the talent show. We were in fifth grade. It was the one and only time I was on a stage. I hated being in the spotlight. I was more comfortable hiding in the dark wings, out of view.
    “Rachel, you’re next,” Grandma said.
    I stepped to the side so Grandma could measure Rachel.
    “You girls are about the same size,” said Grandma, rolling up her yellow tape measure. “Are you sure you like the