the sex-change dad, were having a noisy conversation about kosher caterers, and about some lady from Malvern who'd booked the Four Seasons two years ago for a June wedding, even though she didn't have a fiance or an engagement ring, or even a boyfriend, and now was refusing to give up the date. "Dog in the manger, that's what I call it," one of the mothers said. "Hope springs eternal, I guess," said someone else.
Deirdre Weiss was clapping her hands. "Parents!" she said. "Children!" Her charm bracelet jangled. Everyone ignored her. "EVERYONE!" she yelped. "Let's...let's take a little break, all right? Fifteen minutes? And then we'll reconvene, maybe parents only?"
I slid off my seat and hurried out of the sanctuary with my hands in my pockets and my head down. Tamsin waved at me from the doorway of the library. "Hey, what's Bruce doing here?" she asked. I was just about to answer when Amber Gross grabbed my hand.
"Let's ditch," she said.
"Huh?"
"Come on," she said, and tugged me toward the door. I looked over my shoulder. Tamsin was still standing there with her lips pressed together. Sorry, I mouthed. Tamsin narrowed her eyes, spun on her heel, and stomped toward the library. Amber yanked me through the synagogue's front doors. Sasha Swerdlow was sitting on a bench by the front of the white marble building with her legs crossed, jiggling her feet. "Are you ready?" she asked, bouncing up.
"Lock and load," Amber said.
"We can leave?" I stammered.
"Who's going to stop us?" Amber said. She raised her hand and instantly a cab screeched to a stop at the curb in front of us, which I guess is what happens when you're Amber Gross.
"Where are we going?" I asked as the three of us piled into the squishy backseat.
"Surprise!" said Amber. I watched through the scratched windshield as we sped up Spruce Street, dodging potholes and buses and bikes, past Pennsylvania Hospital, then across Thirteenth Street, the restaurants with their tables set out on the sidewalks, the boutiques that sold fancy dog beds and dresses and baby clothes.
The cab stopped at Eighteenth and Walnut. Amber peeled a ten-dollar bill out of her brown-and-gold leather wallet, and I followed her out of the cab and into the Kiehl's store on the corner.
"What are we--" I started.
"Just come on!" Sasha hissed.
Amber grabbed my arm and pulled me along. "Hey, who's the hottie?" she said, giggling, and I felt slightly sick, with scenes from my mom's book dancing in my head, as I said, "That's my dad. My real one."
The shop was small and crowded, with high glass windows on one side and shelves and shelves of tubes and jars and bottles on the other. There were three women with glossy hair and white coats and name tags. One was behind the cash register, one was talking to an old lady in a fur coat. Amber walked confidently over to the third lady. "Hello," she said. "I'm looking for something for my dry, itchy scalp?"
Sasha, over by the lip gloss, grinned. Even though I had my hearing aids in, I was positive I'd heard wrong. Amber Gross had a dry, itchy scalp? While Amber talked to the saleslady, I looked up and saw Sasha picking up a bottle of sunscreen from the counter and slipping it in her pocket. She caught my eye, winked at me, and made a big show of putting some of the sample lip gloss on the back of her hand. Her lips formed the words try it as she walked by. And I knew she wasn't talking about the lip gloss.
I moved down the counter slowly, my heart hammering, picking up containers of sunscreen and Silk Groom, then putting them back down. There was a detangling conditioner that I bet would work for my hair, and a cuticle cream in a black-and-white tube. I looked at the door to make sure there weren't any sensors, then checked to make sure the salesladies weren't watching. Two of the white-coated salesladies were having an earnest conversation with Amber, one of them lifting a lock of Amber's hair between her fingers. "The flat iron's, like, killing me!"
Deirdre Weiss was clapping her hands. "Parents!" she said. "Children!" Her charm bracelet jangled. Everyone ignored her. "EVERYONE!" she yelped. "Let's...let's take a little break, all right? Fifteen minutes? And then we'll reconvene, maybe parents only?"
I slid off my seat and hurried out of the sanctuary with my hands in my pockets and my head down. Tamsin waved at me from the doorway of the library. "Hey, what's Bruce doing here?" she asked. I was just about to answer when Amber Gross grabbed my hand.
"Let's ditch," she said.
"Huh?"
"Come on," she said, and tugged me toward the door. I looked over my shoulder. Tamsin was still standing there with her lips pressed together. Sorry, I mouthed. Tamsin narrowed her eyes, spun on her heel, and stomped toward the library. Amber yanked me through the synagogue's front doors. Sasha Swerdlow was sitting on a bench by the front of the white marble building with her legs crossed, jiggling her feet. "Are you ready?" she asked, bouncing up.
"Lock and load," Amber said.
"We can leave?" I stammered.
"Who's going to stop us?" Amber said. She raised her hand and instantly a cab screeched to a stop at the curb in front of us, which I guess is what happens when you're Amber Gross.
"Where are we going?" I asked as the three of us piled into the squishy backseat.
"Surprise!" said Amber. I watched through the scratched windshield as we sped up Spruce Street, dodging potholes and buses and bikes, past Pennsylvania Hospital, then across Thirteenth Street, the restaurants with their tables set out on the sidewalks, the boutiques that sold fancy dog beds and dresses and baby clothes.
The cab stopped at Eighteenth and Walnut. Amber peeled a ten-dollar bill out of her brown-and-gold leather wallet, and I followed her out of the cab and into the Kiehl's store on the corner.
"What are we--" I started.
"Just come on!" Sasha hissed.
Amber grabbed my arm and pulled me along. "Hey, who's the hottie?" she said, giggling, and I felt slightly sick, with scenes from my mom's book dancing in my head, as I said, "That's my dad. My real one."
The shop was small and crowded, with high glass windows on one side and shelves and shelves of tubes and jars and bottles on the other. There were three women with glossy hair and white coats and name tags. One was behind the cash register, one was talking to an old lady in a fur coat. Amber walked confidently over to the third lady. "Hello," she said. "I'm looking for something for my dry, itchy scalp?"
Sasha, over by the lip gloss, grinned. Even though I had my hearing aids in, I was positive I'd heard wrong. Amber Gross had a dry, itchy scalp? While Amber talked to the saleslady, I looked up and saw Sasha picking up a bottle of sunscreen from the counter and slipping it in her pocket. She caught my eye, winked at me, and made a big show of putting some of the sample lip gloss on the back of her hand. Her lips formed the words try it as she walked by. And I knew she wasn't talking about the lip gloss.
I moved down the counter slowly, my heart hammering, picking up containers of sunscreen and Silk Groom, then putting them back down. There was a detangling conditioner that I bet would work for my hair, and a cuticle cream in a black-and-white tube. I looked at the door to make sure there weren't any sensors, then checked to make sure the salesladies weren't watching. Two of the white-coated salesladies were having an earnest conversation with Amber, one of them lifting a lock of Amber's hair between her fingers. "The flat iron's, like, killing me!"
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