around the wall phone, though, Iâm pretty sure my very punctual mother wonât be calling, and Iâm relieved when Sarah comes to the door.
Sheâs wearing yet another of her many awesome outfits, this time a white blouse with tight jeans that show off her butt. Her hair is shiny, and sheâs applied the faintest hint of lip gloss. I stand there in my basement-cleaning shorts and a ragged T-shirt, still puzzled that she wants to be my friend.
She flops onto the couch and asks what treasures we unearthed today.
âMy favorite was Wardrobe Renovation Made Simple âall about how to make dresses out of aprons, scarves out of pant legs, and bowties out of old socks,â I say. â A Loving Look at Outhouses: A History in Pictures was pretty good too.â
She laughs, and I donât tell her that these books were presents from my mom, because I donât want her to think my familyâs weird. Iâm sure they must have seemed like the perfect gifts at the time. Mom tries really hard to give people stuff she thinks they might like. When she gets it right, sheâs ecstatic.
âSo?â
I look up, meeting Sarahâs gaze. I realize I havenât heard a word sheâs said. âSorry. What was that?â
âI asked if you want to go clothes shopping with me sometime. For school.â
âOh.â Iâm not sure how to answer. I could pretend to be thrilled and go along, or I could invent an excuse. But excuses mean lying, and lying is exhausting. Besides, the truth has to come out sooner or later, even if it means sheâll declare me a total disappointment as a friend. âI actually kind of hate clothes shopping,â I admit. âItâs genetic. My mom hates it even more than I do.â
âShe does?â Sarah asks, clearly unable to imagine anyone like this. âWho do you go with then?â
âMy dad,â I say. âWeâve got a pretty good system. We go through the store and grab a bunch of stuff that might look okay on me. I try it all on and choose a few things, and we head to the cashier. Once a year. Quick and painless.â
Sarah doesnât stop staring. âYou let your father help pick your clothes? Tell me you at least go to a decent store.â
âThe Gap. Sometimes Old Navy. I only ever get T-shirts and jeans anyway. Shorts in the summer.â
A look of pity flashes across her face, and under any other circumstances, Iâd be indignant, but if that pity gets me out of a shopping trip, Iâll take it.
âOh well,â she says at last. âNobodyâs perfect.â
Now I stare at her, until she bursts out laughing. âIâm kidding, Ellie. You donât have to come shopping if itâs not your thing.â
I smile as if I knew it was a joke all along. I wish I didnât blush so easily though. I ask if she wants some milk and cookies. She agrees, and when I come back with a tray, sheâs looking down at her nails. âDo you still have that book about making dresses from aprons?â
I scan her face, waiting for the punch line, but I realize sheâs serious. âYou want to make bowties out of old socks?â
She shrugs. âI like sewing. It could be interesting.â
I laugh and tell her Iâll go get the book.
Sarahâs nothing like the person I first thought she was, and this summer is going better than I ever could have imagined.
Every day since finding the bandoneón, Iâve been trying to play it. I still sound like poultry with breathing problems, but now and then I get a decent run of notes. Alison would be proud, I think.
And if Mom could stop worrying about teenage rebellion, she might be a little proud too. She always wanted music lessons when she was growing up, which is why she enrolled me in classes almost as soon as I could talk. Today I manage an almost-recognizable rendition of âTwinkle, Twinkle, Little Starâ on the