Read Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase for Free Online Page B

Family Affair . 22
    And what little girl doesn’t want to play with an astigmatic senior citizen doll outfitted in a bib and an apron? Oh, wait. All of them. Had I not been so utterly charming when we went on our first Girl Scout camping trip in fourth grade, Beth would have never given me a second chance, and who could blame her?
    However, we’re close friends now, especially since my bestie Stacey moved to Arizona last summer. Walking home together has only improved our bond. We haven’t been able to cut through the woods for the past few months because the ground was squishy and I didn’t want to get my clogs muddy. Granted, all those people in Holland wear wooden shoes because it’s damp, but I assume theirs aren’t adorned with jaunty leather tassels and hammered brass tacks. Considering I had to get straight As on my report card in order to convince my parents to buy them for me, I’m loath to put them in any mortal danger.
    Beth and I scurry down the dry wooded path, recounting our Field Day victory last week. We were on the red team and I had the genius idea to get a red T-shirt with the word “Red” spelled out on it in iron-on letters. I wore white jogging shorts with red trim and I snagged a pair of Todd’s red-striped tube socks and I tied a red bandanna around my pigtailed hair. Seriously, when I showed up to school that day? I pretty much blew everyone’s mind. My theory is the blue team was so astounded by my fashion savvy that it weakened their defenses and we were able to pull off the win. Or possibly they thought the whole competition was dumb and didn’t try terribly hard. Either way, we won.
    The best part is that I was recognized as one of the most outstanding students in the fifth grade after the competition. The principal called all my favorite people in class—Donna, Beth, Tracey, Andrea, who’s let me use her lip gloss on more than one occasion, Nancy, who in addition to having a basement full of games also sports a Dorothy Hamill haircut, Joe Major, who I would totally have a crush on if boys weren’t yucky, and George, who wears shiny silk shirts and lets me borrow his pink marker.
    Anyway, I was worried for a second as I watched the elite members of the fifth grade claim their spots onstage, but thankfully the last name the principal called was mine. Donna and I were so thrilled to both be part of the group that we were hugging and jumping up and down! Afterward, Nancy invited me over to play board games in her basement 23 and Tracey decided that I simply must try out for cheerleading with her. Without a doubt, it was the best day of my life so far, even surpassing the time I found a giant box of sixties Barbie dolls and girls’ books in the neighbor’s garbage.
    We get to Beth’s house and I say good-bye. I yank up my striped socks (with individual toe slots!), adjust my Mickey Mouse backpack, and hike up the hill.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Jennifer! How’s this fine day treatin’ my favorite granddaughter?” calls Mike, the sweet old Irish crossing guard who’s been working this corner ever since he retired from the New York City police force. Last year we had to do a Girl Scout project with a grandparent, so I asked him to be my adopted grandfather since my Noni and Grampa live in Boston and my Nanny and Gaga had passed away.
    “Hi, Mike! I’m great! I got an A on my spelling test and my dad’s home today!”
    “You’d best hurry on home to see him then! But not too fast, m’dear—I don’t want you to twist an ankle.” He points at my clogs. The heel’s not even an inch high, yet every time I put them on I feel as glamorous as Kristy McNichol.
    “Okay, I’ll see you later, Granddad!”
    I know he’s not really my grandfather, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend.
    I stroll down Prospect Avenue, enjoying the feel of the June sun on my face. Our street is quiet, so every time my wooden heel hits the asphalt it sounds like the clip-clop of horses’ hooves. I’ve