Three Sisters by Norma Fox Mazer

don’t want to flub it.”
    “Try to be calm. Breathe deep, that helps.”
    “Do I look all right?”
    “You look fine. Relax.”
    The warm weather had everyone out in the streets. Packs of dogs roamed around, kids were playing softball. A couple of boys were laid out like fish fillets on top of a car, reflectors held to their faces.
    Liz pulled up in-front of the store. “Well, good luck.”
    It wasn’t a jewelry store, after all, although it had some jewelry. It was more of a variety store, selling scarves, greeting cards, all sorts of little knickknacks and gifts. She walked through a cloud of hanging chimes to where a woman in a long white dress was dusting the glass counters.
    Karen smiled nervously. “I’m Karen Freed. You asked me to come down to see about the job?”
    “Right, Karen. I’m Monica, but when I’m here,
    you call me Patty.” She looked Karen over. “Can you go to work immediately, Karen? I need someone to start Monday.”
    “Monday? Well … no. I’m in school.”
    “I thought—how old are you, Karen?”
    She cleared her throat. “I’ll be sixteen on my next birthday, Moni—Patty… .”
    Patty or Monica flicked the dustcloth over a display of glass animals. “You’re big, that makes you look older. So—you’re still in school.”
    “Yes, I’m looking for a summer job. Do you need someone for the summer?”
    “I’m sorry, I really want someone full-time.”
    In the car, Liz patted her knee. “It took me ages to find my first job, too.” She turned a corner. “There’s Scott’s street, let’s go see if he’s home.”
    “Hawthorne?” Karen said, sitting up.
    “The next one over, Oak. You’ve been over to his place with me.”
    “No.” Karen looked out the window.
    Oak Street was mostly two-family houses with porches up and down. Scott was out on the street washing the pickup truck, bare-chested, wearing faded gray shorts, a pair of rubber clogs.
    They got out of the car and crossed the street. Liz tiptoed up behind Scott and grabbed him around the waist. “Ooof!” He turned around. “Well, both of you are here—great. Look at you, Karen. All dressed up.”
    “Doesn’t she look nice?” Liz said.
    They went up to his apartment. He lived on the second floor. The stairs were narrow and Karen walked behind him and Liz. They walked into the
    living room. A big room. A long, green couch, a stereo on the floor, a couple of easy chairs. In the kitchen Scott brought out beer and soda. Liz seemed familiar with everything, went into the little pantry off the kitchen for crackers, put cheese on a plate, took out knives from a drawer.
    Scott took a long swallow of the beer. He’d put on a shirt. “I thought you were poeming all day today,” he said to Liz.
    “That was the plan but—you know … and Karen needed a ride… .”
    “No flow, huh?”
    “Oh, it was okay for about half an hour. Then I got stuck on a word, one single stinky little word. A skunk of a word.”
    Scott smiled at Karen. “Ordinary people like us don’t have those kinds of problems. So you got called for a job, Karen?”
    “Yes, but it was a mistake—”
    “I ought to write a poem about skunky words,” Liz said.
    “- she thought I wanted full-time work,” Karen finished.
    “A-ha, we add that one to our list,” Scott said.
    “What list?” Liz looked from Karen to Scott. “What’s so funny?”
    “Karen and I are putting together a new list for The Guinness Book.” Scott told Liz about driving Karen around to look for work.
    Liz tapped her mouth. “I didn’t hear about that.”
    “No. I forgot to tell you.” Karen picked up the soda, finished it in one gulp.
    “You know what I was thinking, Liz?” Scott
    draped his arm over Liz’s chair. “I’d really like to get a dog.”
    Liz was still watching Karen, still tapping her lip. Was she thinking about her poem? A poem about skunks and words? Or a poem about skunks and sisters?
    (Seventeen
    Liz’s freckled fingers tapped the wheel in a