Read Don't Touch for Free Online Page B

I’d fall to pieces if he shook my hand.
    And then I see the gloves.
    It’s not healthy, something in me whispers, but it’s better than being exposed.
    â€œWhat do we think of these?” I ask, pulling on the evening-length lavender gloves. I push up my sleeves to make room.
    â€œOoh, très chic ,” Mandy says. “What are you, going to the opera?”
    â€œThey’re kind of fabulous, right?”
    She reaches out and runs her fingers along them, down my forearm to the back of my hand. The gloves work like armor. Everything’s covered up safe.
    â€œWhat if I wore them at school? They could be my thing—a signature.”
    Mandy laughs. “You afraid of not being weird enough to fit in with the artists?”
    â€œSays the girl with pink hair.”
    She fingers her pink streak and grins. “Oh, I’m aware. But I like it.”
    â€œMaybe I like the gloves.”
    â€œThen go for it,” she says. “You know, the pink hair was partly inspired by you.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œRemember that time you suggested we wear pink for a week, just to see if people would notice?”
    â€œWhich they did on the very first day.”
    That hadn’t been one of my games , just a game, in fifth grade. Mandy played along, and we weren’t the least bit afraid of people making fun because together we were so cool.
    â€œYou were always good at that,” Mandy says, “coming up with the zany thing nobody else would dare do.”
    That doesn’t sound like me now at all, but I like that it’s how she remembers me.
    I hold up the gloves. “You won’t tell anyone that I only started wearing these in time for school?”
    â€œWhat? Caddie’s always worn gloves! She’s a real trendsetter. You watch. It’s going to be all evening-gown gloves at New York Fashion Week this year.”
    â€œDon’t overdo it.”
    â€œWho? Me? Never.”
    Mandy takes my gloved hand and swings it between us like we’re kids again. The gloves are more than protection. They’re a secret, and secrets work like glue between friends.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
6.
    â€œYou’re not wearing those to school, are you?” Jordan says, indicating my gloves.
    â€œIs this a Mandy-Caddie thing?” Mom asks.
    We’re eating dinner together on the night before school starts, “like a family.” We’re doing our best impression. Mom’s lit the candles in the dining room, poured a glass of wine for herself and sparkling grape juice for Jordan and me. The pork tenderloin rests in Dad’s place at the head of the table.
    I nod, yes, a Mandy-Caddie thing, like wearing pink for a week. It makes Mom happy to think that Mandy and I are getting closer again.
    We are. If I can keep from messing it up.
    Mom lifts her glass. “I’m so excited for you.”
    I clink glasses with her—super classy in my gloves. “Me too.”
    I make myself smile, but inside I’m a mess. What if Mandy’s friends don’t want me to sit with them at lunch? What if they don’t care, but there’s no room at the table? What if the only seat’s next to Peter? What if I choke in acting class and Nadia says, “There’s no hope for you”?
    And on top of all that, there’s the guilt. I wouldn’t have this opportunity if Dad had stayed.
    I’ve been so fixated on Mandy these last few days, as if being friends with her might bring me back to normal. As if it might be like before . . . before middle school, before stupid games in my head, before Dad even thought about leaving.
    But here we are talking about Mandy and me over dinner, and Dad’s still so gone.
    There’s a missed call and a text on my phone when I get back upstairs.
    The text is from Mandy:
    Can’t wait for