So, there I was. Basically, trapped in a thirteen-year-old girl’s bedroom. I walked away from the door and took in my surroundings. The room had changed from what I’d remembered. For one thing, the walls, instead of being eggshell white, were now a fresh aqua. Even though the color was different, the walls were still covered in artwork.
Good — and I mean, really good — artwork.
Pen and ink. Pastels. Paintings. An easel took up one corner of the room, and on the opposite side of that was a high, white table and a stool. I moved over to it for a closer look. The table was covered with trays of beads and charms, spools of wire, and hand tools. Needle-nose pliers. Wirecutters. A utility knife.
At the foot of the table was a basket about the size of watermelon. I bent down to examine it and found it held little plastic bags — and each bag was full of beaded jewelry. Some held a pair of earrings. Some held necklaces. Others bracelets.
I plucked one of the plastic bags from the basket and held it up. Inside was a beaded necklace. Since it was coiled up on itself, I couldn’t really tell what it looked like. Glancing back over my shoulder and hearing nothing but the hint of murmured voices and gentle splashing, I opened the bag and poured the necklace into my palm.
Made of three strands, it was short, like a choker. Each band was strung with tiny beads of reds and oranges. In the center of the choker was a gold sunburst charm. I flipped the charm over and found a tiny sticker tab with$12written on it by hand.
I blinked. I pulled another bag from the basket, this time finding a pair of beaded earrings. A tiny hand-written sticker tab on the bag itself said$8.
Elise Cormier had a jewelry business.
“Huh,” I said to the empty room. No lying, I was impressed. I mean, yeah, it was girlie and homegrown.
But it was hers.
And she was good. The beaded choker and earrings looked just like what Ava, Honey, Bree, and their friends wore all the time. Like stuff they bought at the mall.
Actually, it was cooler than the stuff they bought at the mall. More original.
“What are you doing? Don’t touch that.”
Elise’s hissed words made me drop the choker, and I spun to face her, looking just as guilty as I was. Her eyes blazed, and her nostrils flared. And when she barreled toward me, all five-foot-one and ninety-odd pounds of her, I backed away. I backed clear away from her desk with my hands raised.
“Sorry… sorry. I was just looking.”
Why the hell was I groveling? She was just a kid. It wasn’t like she could take me down, and it wasn’t like I cared what she thought about me.
“Didn’t anybody teach you not to bother other people’s stuff?” Elise swiped the choker off the table and carefully coiled it up.
“Yes, actually,”I wanted to tell her,“my father shoved me into a wall when I read the sports page of his newspaper before he did. I was seven.”
But I swallowed that impulse, cleared my throat, and forced myself to speak without emotion. “I said I was sorry,” I said evenly. “I shouldn’t have bothered your jewelry. But I did. And it’s really good.”
Her hands stilled, and her eyes shot to mine. She was almost as good at keeping her expression blank as I was. But I could see that what I’d said was important to her. And maybe because Iwassorry or maybe because I didn’t want her to start pretending like I didn’t exist again, I kept talking.
“Those have price tags on them. Where do you sell them?”
Elise blinked. Her eyes were amber. Not light brown. Not hazel. My mother had a pin made of amber in the shape of a maple leaf. She’d wear it in the fall. Elise’s eyes were exactly that color.
“Sometimes, I sell them at the farmer’s market,” she offered. “When Mama helps her friend Rita, who has a pie stall.”
She put her attention back to the bag in her hands, pressing the seal closed. “Sometimes I sell them at school.”
In spite of myself, this made me smile. “I think it’s cool that you have a little business.”
And then something that had never happened before happened. Elise Cormier smiled at me. I’d seen her smile before. At Flora. At Ava. Even at my mom. But I didn’t think she’d ever smiled atme.
Two thoughts occurred to me when I saw her smile:
1) Elise Cormier was going to grow up to be beautiful.
2) I wanted to make her smile again.
But I immediately brushed aside both of these thoughts. Elise might grow up beautiful, and good for her, but that was none of my concern. And while seeing her smile again would be nice, I hadn’t earned her smiles before now, and I didn’t have the time or the energy to try to keep earning them. I had two good friends. Two was enough. I didn’t need to add a thirteen-year-old girl to that list.
