Free The Sisterhood by Helen Bryan Page A

you…some kind of disease?” Becky’s stomach lurched with fear. Menina
couldn’t
be HIV positive? Menina was the only girl Becky knew who bought her mother’s line about no sex until she got married. She
couldn’t
have caught anything. Buried in her pillow Menina was shaking her head. “Did he hit you? I don’t care who he is, if he did we’re going to call the police and have him arrested,” said Becky.
    “No police! Forget it, Becky. Go back to college. I’m tired of talking.” Menina curled up in a fetal position, pulled the quilt over her head, and wouldn’t say anything else. Becky left the room quietly and shut the door.
    Outside in the hall Sarah-Lynn was bringing a plate with a chicken-salad sandwich, Menina’s favorite. “She won’t eat,” she whispered to Becky. “Hasn’t touched a bite for two days. And next week there’s a bridal shower and a big luncheon and all those invitations to address. You reckon it’s just wedding nerves?”
    Becky cautiously said, “Maybe. Mrs. Walker, give me that sandwich.” She took the plate and marched back into Menina’s room. She pulled the quilt off her friend’s head and said firmly, “Whatever happened, you’ve got to get away from Theo and your mother and his mother and the wedding craziness while you figure things out. The scholarship lets you travel if you want and you’re going to use it.”
    “What? I don’t want to go anywhere. I…”
    “Yes, you do.” Becky handed her a Kleenex. “You want to go to Spain and you’re going to Spain. Next Saturday…”
    Menina sat up slowly and said, “
What?
” again, like she wasn’t hearing well. Then she started crying incoherently again. Trying not to show how this behavior alarmed her, Becky said firmly, “Here’s the deal—there’s a three-week trip organized by some big cheese art professor at the university leaving for Madrid next weekend. It was supposed to be just for the art history graduate students, but they’re advertising spare tickets in the campus newspaper because they haven’t filled up all their places. The flight and a place to stay are all included, a YMCA hostel or something. They’re doing the cultural crap—museums, cathedrals. Your idea of a good time. And yes, you
are
going! It’s a chance to go to the Prado like you wanted.”
    “Oh Becky, I can’t…there’s packing and my parents…you know…they’d worry…” Menina waved her hand feebly at nothing.
    “Oh, I can totally see it’s better to sit here crying in a dark room in broad daylight—that doesn’t worry them in the least. A few more days of it and they’ll have your ass in a loony bin, drugged to the eyeballs. Besides, when you hear what your mother’s got lined up, it won’t be pretty when she starts canceling things. So eat while I call to grab one of those spare tickets for you, then I’ll tell your parents.”
    Menina stared at her blankly, then picked up the plate, looked at the sandwich, and sighed. “They won’t like it.” Her stomach hurt. Maybe she should try and eat.
    Becky snorted. “The professor who organized the tour is a woman, Professor Serafina Somebody, Spanish, which is why she’s guiding the tour. Probably a dried-up old bag with the kind of ideas about being ladylike that your mother would love. Anyway, you got a better idea?”
    The sandwich stopped halfway to Menina’s mouth. “No.” She took a small bite.
    “Didn’t think so. That sandwich better be gone when I get back. Then we’ll pack.”
    Menina ate her sandwich like chewing hurt, but she ate it. She was distractedly filling a suitcase with jeans and sweatshirts when Becky returned from a difficult conversation with the Walkers. “Not that stuff!” Becky exclaimed, emptying the suitcase. She tried to sound upbeat. “Get with the program. In Madrid, you go out all night. They never sleep.” Becky held up skirts and tops and trousers against each other and squinted critically to see what matched