The Thanksgiving Treasure by Gail Rock

lunged across the bed at me. “Lemme see it, Mills!” she shouted, and dived for the sketch pad.
    â€œNo! You rat!” I screamed, and scrambled to get away.
    Then Tanya and Gloria jumped across the bed too, and we were in a wild free-for-all. I rolled into a ball, clutching the pad to my stomach, and they pinched, tickled and clobbered me with pillows, trying to get it away. I screamed as loud as I could, which was ear-splitting.
    â€œShhhh!” said Carla Mae quickly, and pulled off the other two. “You’ll wake up my folks, and they’ll kill me!”
    â€œOK,” I said. “Get away from me then. Truce!”
    They backed off, giving up. I had kept my secret design from them.
    â€œImmature!” I snarled at them, as I readjusted my glasses and settled myself on the bed again.
    â€œIt better be some fancy dress when we see it,” said Gloria.
    I retrieved my gum from the bedpost, where I had put it when I was eating my fudge and french fries, and Tanya glared at me and turned up her nose. Tanya imagined herself to have the most refined manners of the four of us. I put my sketch pad safely away and started leafing idly through Vogue .
    We wanted to have someone special in town present the awards for the best designs at the style show, and we discussed all the possible town celebrities. There was Miss Thompson, our favorite teacher, but she had presented the awards the year before. There was Mrs. Clauson, the banker’s wife, who was the richest woman in town, but we counted her out because she was fat and not very stylish herself. Of course, Tanya wanted her mother to be the presenter, but we all ruled that out in a hurry, with much cracking of gum.
    â€œThink of someone!” Carla Mae said, and we were silent for a few moments.
    â€œThese fashion magazines are so stupid!” I said, as I continued looking through them. “I wouldn’t be caught dead at a dogfight in these clothes!”
    Just then, Tanya pulled out a bottle of dark red nail polish and a big wad of cotton from her overnight bag.
    â€œGad!” said Carla Mae. “Where did you get that.”
    â€œI borrowed it from my mother,” Tanya said haughtily.
    None of us were allowed to use nail polish or any other make up until we were in high school, and we stared at it enviously.
    â€œDoes your mother let you wear nail polish now?” Gloria asked.
    â€œOnly at night,” said Tanya. “I have to take it off before I go out in the morning.”
    We all groaned.
    â€œThat’s ridiculous!” I said.
    â€œWell,” said Tanya smugly. “When we’re old enough to wear nail polish, I’m going to know how to do it, and you’re not.”
    She proceeded to put big wads of cotton between her toes to hold them apart and then started painting her toenails as we all watched in fascination. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of looking too interested, so I went back to my magazine.
    â€œâ€˜What to Wear to a Broadway Opening Night’” I read from one of the articles.
    â€œWe’ve got to think of somebody to present the awards!” Carla Mae said impatiently.
    Suddenly I got one of my brilliant brainstorms.
    â€œConstance Payne!” I shouted at them.
    â€œAddie!” said Carla Mae. “We were going to keep that a secret!”
    â€œOh, I know!” I said. “But I just got this brainstorm! She’s the perfect person to present the awards!”
    â€œWhat secret?” demanded Tanya. “Constance who?”
    Carla Mae and I excitedly told Tanya and Gloria the story of Constance Gunderson Payne, interrupting each other with all the glamorous details and embroidering a bit on what we already knew. I announced that we had planned to visit her anyway to ask for an autograph. Tanya glared at me. It was just the kind of dramatic announcement she would have loved to make herself.
    â€œAnd you weren’t going to