Pish Posh by Ellen Potter Page B

asked.
    â€œOf course not!”
    â€œWell, tonight you are Emily McBickle, lead soprano in the Sandusky, Ohio, Girls’ Choir. And silly you! You got separated from your group and are all alone and lost in New York City. ”
    â€œIs that what I’m supposed to tell Patient X?” Clara guessed.
    â€œWith tears in your eyes. ”
    â€œI don’t cry.”
    â€œPractice. ”
    For the next hour, Clara thought of all sorts of sad things—her parents dying, herself dying, Pish Posh closing down—but all she could manage was a weak squealing sound, which made her sound like a dolphin, and she couldn’t manage to work up any tears.
    â€œForget it. You might pop a blood vessel,” Annabelle said finally, rolling her eyes. “Just try not to look so superior.”

CHAPTER-THIRTEEN
    A s it turned out, it was quite easy for Clara to not look As it turned out, it was quite easy for Clara to not look so superior: she was dressed in a pair of cheap stonewashed jeans that were rolled up three times at the cuff and a perfectly hideous lime-green shirt with a giant panda-bear head appliquéd on. The panda’s eyes were made of huge clear-plastic bubbles, which contained little black balls for pupils that bobbled around crazily as Clara walked. On her feet she wore a pair of Annabelle’s old sneakers.
    Annabelle was dressed as Patient X, with a large designer tote bag slung over her shoulder containing burglary equipment, including the Spyfocals.
    On the street, Clara’s hand automatically shot out to hail a cab, but Annabelle grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hand down.
    â€œNo cabs. We’re going by subway,” Annabelle said, and she began walking east at a brisk pace.
    â€œThe subway?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Â 
    â€œYou can go by subway, if you want. I’m going by cab,” Clara said firmly. In truth, Clara had never been on a subway. According to everything she had heard, they were filthy and dangerous, and to be avoided at all cost.
    â€œNo, you’re not,” Annabelle replied just as firmly. “The idea is to be inconspicuous. Cabdrivers are nosy. On a train, people don’t look at each other. In fact, it’s practically a rule that they don’t look at each other. We’re going by subway.” And she picked up her pace, not even bothering to look back and see if Clara was following her.
    The sneakers were not at all what Clara had expected. Her feet had never felt so close to the ground, yet they were delightfully cushioned and so bouncy that she had a strange urge to run, and a few times she deliberately let Annabelle get ahead of her in order to launch herself into a springy jog to catch up. At the subway station, as they descended the long flight of stairs, Clara covered her nose.
    â€œI smell urine,” she complained.
    Annabelle gave her a sidelong look. “Subway stairs always smell like that. ”
    Clara breathed through her mouth until they reached the bottom, where there was a large booth and several turnstiles, past which was a concrete platform.
    â€œHere.” Annabelle pressed a thin paper card in Clara’s hand.
    â€œWhat’s this for?”
    â€œWhat’s it for?” Annabelle asked incredulously. “It gets you into the subway. You swipe it at the turnstile. ” She gazed at Clara curiously for a minute, and then said, “Cripes, you’ve never been on the subway before, have you?”
    â€œYou have lipstick on your teeth,” Clara said diffidently.
    Annabelle rubbed at her teeth with the edge of her thumb. “I’ve never heard of someone who grew up in New York and has never—”
    â€œIt’s seven thirty-five, Annabelle.”
    â€œOkay. Just swipe the card through the slot there. That’s it. And just push through the turnstile—harder. There you go.”
    On the subway platform was a smattering of people milling around. They