If Only by Becky Citra Page B

ready to talk to her about it yet. But instead she says, “We’re going to Long Beach this summer. For our vacation. Usually we go camping somewhere, but we’re going to stay in a motel this time because of Mary. Last summer we didn’t go anywhere because Mary was too little.”
    â€œWhere’s Long Beach?” I ask.
    â€œVancouver Island. It’s not tropical , but Dad says there’s miles of sand and I’ll be able to find all kinds of shells and that I’ll love it.”
    I’ve never been on a vacation before, unless you count driving to BC from Ontario. Dad has always worked all through the summer. “Sounds fun,” I say.
    â€œI bet you could come with us,” Billie says. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.”
    â€œMaybe,” I say.
    Billie doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know that I’m basically scared stiff just leaving this house.
    We sit side by side, cross-legged, on my bed and look through all my old copies of Seventeen . We pick out the best clothes and the ugliest clothes. Billie mostly likes pants and tops, and she likes everything in bright colors.
    â€œI never wear skirts unless my parents make me,” Billie says.
    But she likes makeup. She’s wearing green eye shadow right now. She says she’s allowed to borrow any of her mom’s makeup that she wants.
    We both get hungry at the same time. We go down to the kitchen and make peanut butter sandwiches, and I pour us big glasses of chocolate milk. We sit at the table and eat and drink and talk. Billie wants to know about my family, and I tell her about Nana and Pop and their dog Jack and living on the farm and even a little bit about living in Ontario, although that seems like a lifetime ago.
    â€œI’ve always lived in the same house,” Billie says. “It’s boring. Your life has been much more interesting.”
    Dad comes in then, his jacket slung over his good shoulder, and I introduce him to Billie. He’s going to a doctor’s appointment, and he’s in a good mood. “I’ll be back by four,” he promises.
    After he leaves, Billie tilts her head sideways and studies me and says, “I want to try and fix your hair. Just kind of even it out a bit.”
    â€œNo,” I say.
    â€œPlease,” Billie says. “I’m thinking of being a hairdresser when I finish school.”
    â€œIt’s my hair,” I protest.
    â€œI need some experience,” she says.
    So I finally get the kitchen scissors out of the drawer and put a towel around my neck and sit on a chair. “Have you ever cut hair before?” I say.
    â€œNever,” Billie says cheerfully. “Have faith, sister!”
    She leaps around the chair, waving the scissors like they’re a weapon.
    â€œDon’t get near me!” I shriek. “You’re dangerous!”
    â€œSorry,” Billie says. “I’ll calm down.”
    She sucks in her cheeks and frowns and makes her eyes go buggy, all at the same time. I giggle. “That’s no improvement.”
    She hums while she snips. Feathery wisps drift onto my lap. “Not so much,” I say, panicking. I’ve gotten used to my hair the way it is. Sort of.
    â€œI’m just making the two sides the same,” Billie says. She stands back and studies my head. “Oops.”
    â€œ What ?”
    â€œI can fix it.” She snips a little more.
    â€œTa-da! Finished!” she finally announces.
    I spring off the chair and run to the mirror in the bathroom. To be honest, I can’t see much difference. My hair still looks like it’s been attacked by aliens.
    â€œI could do some more,” Billie offers.
    â€œNo thanks,” I say hastily.
    We spend the rest of the afternoon doing homework at the kitchen table. Billie helps me with decimals, and I do all her grammar exercises for her because it’s stuff I did last year.
    Billie stays until Dad