The Volley of the Dolls

Or; Are 'Friends' Aquatic?

I was eight years old. I didn’t have many friends. Certainly not Melanie.

I didn’t choose to be her friend. She was chosen for me. I found myself spending weekly afternoons at her house for several summers in a row. It was a transactional relationship - I had a place to go, and my mom went to work. Her mom didn’t work. It worked out great.

I don’t know h…