A comment from her, here or there, could make or break a girl’s social standing. And even back then, she was a vengeful person who simply wouldn’t...tolerate anyone making her look imperfect, real, or imagined. A story that kept circulating was that a girl had committed suicide over a minor incident. My mother had bragged to her inner circle that she had driven the girl to it. Bullying at its worst.Was it any wonder I had worked to escape that poisonous atmosphere as soon as I was able?“Your. I used to a little when I was a kid, but Karen and I usually played pinochle or some other game, never poker. “You know how to play?” I asked her.“Used to, long time ago, still remember the hands, though,” she answered. She shuffled the cards and before dealing, asked, “this a practice hand or the real thing?”I shrugged, “Real?” everyone else nodded their agreement.Karen started dealing out the cards to the four of us. I almost wanted to scream, ‘you’re not serious. No way, you’re not actually. More

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