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bed.”
    “You should go, too, Mom,” Dorry said. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
    “Hope so,” her mother said, heaving herself up from the couch.
    When both of Dorry’s parents had disappeared into their bedroom and shut the door, she relaxed and leaned her head back against the couch. She felt like she’d stepped off a roller coaster. Her parents’ anger had been like an unexpected plunge at the end, when she’d thought the ride was over.
    Dorry replayed everything in her mind, starting with the trip to Burger King with Lara. That seemed so long ago now. Dorry slid lower on the couch. She remembered laughing and talking with Brad and Angela, meeting Pastor Jim, hearing Angela say, “Everybody likes you. You know that, don’t you?” She frowned, thinking of thefight she’d heard between Angela and Lara. Except it wasn’t really a fight if it was for Lara’s own good. So Lara was a kleptomaniac. What had she meant by “. . . she needs it”? Who would need a broken necklace? Angela hadn’t explained that part. Maybe she couldn’t. If Lara was a kleptomaniac, her reasoning wouldn’t make sense.
    Dorry slid down sideways, stretching her legs out on the couch. She could be a little crazy, herself. Before Angela had explained about Lara’s problem, Dorry had almost suspected they were fighting about her.

Chapter
    Six
    DORRY GOT UP EARLY SUNDAY MORNING and pulled on her nicest outfit, a flowered jumper and matching shirt that looked like silk if you didn’t get too close. She tried to forget that the material of the dress pulled too tightly across her midsection. She put on lip gloss without glancing in the mirror. She knew it would only deliver bad news. Her skin had been breaking out something awful since they’d moved, and her hair had never been anything but uncontrollable. Back home, Marissa had gone through a phase where she’d wanted to become a beautician, and she’d taken on Dorry’s hair as her personal mission.
    “It’s not a bad color—really brown’s okay, and it is thick. Maybe one of those new shags would help,” Marissa had said.
    So Dorry had been crazy enough to follow her advice, and the haircut had looked awful from the beginning. Now she ran a comb through her hair as usual, without much hope that it would help.
    By eight fifteen, Dorry was sitting by the window pulling on her shoes. Both of her parentswere sleeping late, and she wanted to make sure Angela didn’t wake them knocking at the door or ringing the bell. She looked out at the Northview parking lot and wondered what the Fishers service would be like. Probably boring like Bryden Methodist, she decided. She’d have to figure out how to get everyone to stay friends with her without having to go to church.
    A rusty yellow car pulled in and parked at the far end. Dorry knew that wasn’t Angela. Then she remembered she didn’t know what Angela’s car looked like. Surely she wouldn’t have Brad’s again. Dorry’s stomach began doing flip-flops. She chewed a ragged hangnail on her right thumb. Since Friday she’d been trying to focus just on the good things about her new friends. But if Angela was driving a bright blue sports car, that would mean she’d been at Northview on Monday, and had avoided Dorry. Then Dorry would have to ask her about it, or always wonder. And how could they be friends then?
    Angela showed up at eight twenty-six, in a dark blue Mercedes.
    Relief washed over Dorry, then awe— I have a friend who drives a Mercedes? She grabbed her purse and rushed out the door.
    Angela was getting out of the car, steppinggingerly in her high heels on the cracked, weedy blacktop of the parking lot.
    “I’m sorry,” Dorry said. “My family’s not really this poor. It’s just that my parents still have to pay taxes and stuff on our house back home, and—”
    Angela held up her hand like a stop sign. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t choose my friends based on money. Think about