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Suddenly what had been meant as a fun shopping trip felt horrible. She felt horrible. Her shoulders slumped.
    â€œStay here, Phoebe,” said Mallory decisively. “Let me go pick something out for you. I bet I’ll have better luck.”
    â€œMaybe I should have surgery.”
    â€œDon’t even think that! You’re fine. Besides, your mother would never let you. Actually, neither would I.”
    â€œI don’t really mean it.”
    â€œGood. Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    â€œDon’t you ask that salesclerk!”
    Mallory didn’t answer as she shut the door behind her. Alone, Phoebe looked again at herself in the mirror. But it was Mallory she saw in her head. Her friend Mallory.
    Her gorgeous friend.
    Mallory had changed so much in the last few years. At five eleven, she now towered over Phoebe’s five two. And Mallory, not Phoebe, was today the girl that other people noticed when they were together in public. Often people even thought Mallory might be a model, which was not so much because she was tall and pretty as it was because she was striking and confident and held herself well. Her long fall of silky hair, ivory skin, and oval, deep-set eyes didn’t hurt either. It was strange to compare Mallory’s current grace and style and beauty to the defiant, plain-faced ragamuffin she once had been.
    Phoebe faded away next to Mallory now, and she knew it. In part, this was because of her decision last year to wear only black clothing. It wasn’t really a goth look, because of Phoebe’s thick, reddish brown hair, soft gray eyes, and scattering of freckles, and also because she couldn’t be bothered with much makeup. But it also had the effect of making Mallory stand out as the sophisticated, put-together, worldly one.
    Phoebe didn’t mind, actually. She got enough attention in the world already, when people heard her last name. “This is one of your ways to try to fade into the background and not be noticed,” Mallory had observed to Phoebe about her clothing.
    â€œNo, it’s just what makes me feel comfortable,” Phoebe had said. “So please, Mallory, don’t give me that lecture about standing up for myself again.”
    â€œThat lecture” was something that Mallory trotted out occasionally, and which Phoebe had come to find slightly annoying. But she knew Mallory meant well.
    And Phoebe had to admit to herself now that she had sort of wanted an amazing bra. She had wanted to believe the ads she’d seen about this one particular miracle bra and how it could change your life.
    Make you sexy. Make you feel delicious. Make boys notice.
    Oh, well. Phoebe rolled her eyes ironically at herself. She took off her shirt and the miracle bra that had been so terrible on her. She put her own bra on and sat down on the bench in the corner of the dressing room while she waited for Mallory to come back.
    It was a good thing she had, too, because it was a long time, twenty minutes at least, before Mallory returned, carrying a single bra on a little hanger.
    â€œThere you are.” Phoebe jumped up. “Why didn’t you answer your cell phone? I was just about to come out and hunt you down.”
    â€œSorry.” Mallory sank down almost heavily on the bench that Phoebe had just vacated. She handed the bra to Phoebe.
    â€œThis is it?” Phoebe said. “This is what took you, like, half an hour of searching to find?”
    â€œYes.” Mallory leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
    â€œHey. Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m a little tired, I guess. I didn’t sleep well last night. Try on the bra, Phoebe. I think it’s really cute. I think it’s just right for you.”
    Phoebe looked again, dubiously, at the bra. It was beige and lacy, and she supposed it was pretty, but it was understated and it didn’t have any of the underwire or padding that absolutely