was okay to go get Claire’s stuff. By the way, you look great today, Mom. Gardening is your look, girlfriend.” I stumble into the car before she has a chance to say another living thing or place another hard-and-fast rule on my day. I breathe out extensively as Claire pulls out of the driveway. “We made it.”
She looks at my legs. “Sort of. You’re wearing your pajamas.”
I look down. “I totally am. Go back. No, wait.” I look back at my mother, who is bent over her flower bed, watching us. “Don’t. I’ll borrow something at your house.”
Claire is about five inches shorter than me, but I ignore this fact. It’s that, or my mother.
My mom yells, “Daisy!”
“Just go, just go,” I tell Claire.
“Daisy, stop right there!”
Claire lets the car idle. Mom saunters over with a hoe in her hand and leans on it. She’s wearing blue-jean overalls and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “Here. It’s for your shopping trip.”
“How’d you—What’s this?”
“You were right. You are the only one who dresses the way you do at your school, and that has to be hard.”
And it’s not helped by my parents’ Donny and Marie rapping onstage. “Yeah?”
“Go to the mall and get yourself some clothes.” Mom doesn’t meet my eyes. “I heard you and Claire through the heating vent.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“I earned it. Don’t worry, it’s mine.”
“Not doing that rap yesterday?” I don’t want tainted money.
She smiles and leans in to talk to Claire. “Shop at affordable stores, Claire. Daisy’s dad isn’t a high-profile lawyer.”
Maybe the pirate suit gave that away.
“We will. We totally will,” Claire says.
Claire and I look at one another. “Mom? What about Dad?” I ask.
“I’ll take care of that. Go shop,” my mother says as she pulls her gardening gloves from under her arm and studies her approach.
I squeeze my head under the windshield and look up.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus is coming back. It’s the only possible explanation.”
Claire roars her engine to life and pulls away from the curb. She stares at my pajamas. “Why didn’t you go back in and change?”
“Just go. By the way, I told you my father wasn’t cheap.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Your mother gave you the money.”
“Well, where’d she get it, Miss Smarty Pants?”
“Not from your father, I know that much. You really should go change. What are you going to borrow from me, a nightgown?” Claire asks as we drive away.
“Shorts. A skirt, I don’t know, just let’s go. If we go back, you know I’m not getting out again. My real mom will return, and I can’t take that chance. This is the first day of my new life!” I fumble through her glove compartment, tossing CDs on the floor and flipping through useless paperwork. “Where’s your makeup? You always have makeup in here.”
“I’m trying to be more organized. Besides, I told you, I had to work, so I already put it on at home. I gave you makeup four days ago. Where is it?”
“It wouldn’t fit in my wristlet,” I say sheepishly.
“Priorities, Daisy. I’m supposed to be at the store at ten for training. We open at eleven today, so I’m glad to take you to the mall, but I can’t shop. You can drop by the store and show me what you’ve bought.”
I gaze at my friend, who is literally a stranger to me right now. Getting organized? In a hurry to get to work? “What is wrong with you? I let the spider ring go, but this—you’re self-starting now? Has the earth shifted? I want my best friend back. The fun, flaky one.”
“Daisy, you know, if your dad was remotely reasonable, I wouldn’t have to break you out at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. You said you want this year to be different, but how can that happen if you do things exactly the same? If you want a different result, the only person you can change is you.”
“Who are
She looks at my legs. “Sort of. You’re wearing your pajamas.”
I look down. “I totally am. Go back. No, wait.” I look back at my mother, who is bent over her flower bed, watching us. “Don’t. I’ll borrow something at your house.”
Claire is about five inches shorter than me, but I ignore this fact. It’s that, or my mother.
My mom yells, “Daisy!”
“Just go, just go,” I tell Claire.
“Daisy, stop right there!”
Claire lets the car idle. Mom saunters over with a hoe in her hand and leans on it. She’s wearing blue-jean overalls and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “Here. It’s for your shopping trip.”
“How’d you—What’s this?”
“You were right. You are the only one who dresses the way you do at your school, and that has to be hard.”
And it’s not helped by my parents’ Donny and Marie rapping onstage. “Yeah?”
“Go to the mall and get yourself some clothes.” Mom doesn’t meet my eyes. “I heard you and Claire through the heating vent.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“I earned it. Don’t worry, it’s mine.”
“Not doing that rap yesterday?” I don’t want tainted money.
She smiles and leans in to talk to Claire. “Shop at affordable stores, Claire. Daisy’s dad isn’t a high-profile lawyer.”
Maybe the pirate suit gave that away.
“We will. We totally will,” Claire says.
Claire and I look at one another. “Mom? What about Dad?” I ask.
“I’ll take care of that. Go shop,” my mother says as she pulls her gardening gloves from under her arm and studies her approach.
I squeeze my head under the windshield and look up.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus is coming back. It’s the only possible explanation.”
Claire roars her engine to life and pulls away from the curb. She stares at my pajamas. “Why didn’t you go back in and change?”
“Just go. By the way, I told you my father wasn’t cheap.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Your mother gave you the money.”
“Well, where’d she get it, Miss Smarty Pants?”
“Not from your father, I know that much. You really should go change. What are you going to borrow from me, a nightgown?” Claire asks as we drive away.
“Shorts. A skirt, I don’t know, just let’s go. If we go back, you know I’m not getting out again. My real mom will return, and I can’t take that chance. This is the first day of my new life!” I fumble through her glove compartment, tossing CDs on the floor and flipping through useless paperwork. “Where’s your makeup? You always have makeup in here.”
“I’m trying to be more organized. Besides, I told you, I had to work, so I already put it on at home. I gave you makeup four days ago. Where is it?”
“It wouldn’t fit in my wristlet,” I say sheepishly.
“Priorities, Daisy. I’m supposed to be at the store at ten for training. We open at eleven today, so I’m glad to take you to the mall, but I can’t shop. You can drop by the store and show me what you’ve bought.”
I gaze at my friend, who is literally a stranger to me right now. Getting organized? In a hurry to get to work? “What is wrong with you? I let the spider ring go, but this—you’re self-starting now? Has the earth shifted? I want my best friend back. The fun, flaky one.”
“Daisy, you know, if your dad was remotely reasonable, I wouldn’t have to break you out at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. You said you want this year to be different, but how can that happen if you do things exactly the same? If you want a different result, the only person you can change is you.”
“Who are
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