Camo Girl Read Free Page B

of coupons, and the shopping list, muttering, “Another day, another dollar.”
    I try to look on the bright side: Mom comes home tonight.
    A bowl of shredded wheat and half a grapefruit are waiting for me. When Grammie’s not looking, I sprinkle extra sugar on both. Mom prefers the fake stuff, but she hides it when she’s away so that Grammie doesn’t ditch it. Grammie tried to ban it from the house at first, insisting that it’s going to cause me to grow a second head one day,but Mom says Grammie really hates it because her first name is Splenda and she’s radically pissed that they stole it.
    â€œFive minutes, kiddo,” she says. “Get a move on.”
    But I don’t. Clearing my plate takes all of ten seconds. There’s no big rush. Anyway, I don’t care about getting to the bus stop early anymore.
    My ex-BFF Millie and I now have a fifteen-minute friendship. It starts at about 7:40 when we wait at the bus stop together. We share a seat on the bus and look over our homework together. It ends at about 7:55, when we get off the bus and Z is there waiting for me.
    That’s when Millie runs off to be with her new friends, and we all pretend like it’s no big deal. We used to hang out after school, the three of us. Now, well, I don’t really know what Millie does with her time.
    She’s waiting already at the corner between our houses. Her golden hair is tied in a ponytail at the base of her neck. I stuff back my disappointment. Today is not the day.
    â€œHi, Ella.”
    â€œHi, Millie.”
    She’s still a nice girl, but we used to braid our hair the same way every day. We would decide the night before what color ribbons we were going to wear so that we could match.
    â€œWhat did you get for number sixteen?” she says, holding her math homework out to me.
    â€œThat’s what I got,” I say, glancing at the page.
    The other sixth-grade girls wear their hair down, or in a ponytail. I can’t do that. My hair swells into a big puffball if it’s not braided, and it’s not like I don’t have enough problems as it is. Anyway, I like braids. I liked Millie’s especially, because her hair goes halfway down her back, and they were like gold silken ropes that would glide through my fingers. Amazing and smooth.
    â€œDid you know,” she says, “Rick Small and I are going together.”
    â€œWhere?”
    She blushes. “You know. Just
going
.”
    â€œOh. That’s great.”
    Millie likes braids, too. She always thought it was impressive that mine could stay in place even without a ribbon. One time she even said she wished her hair could do that, though I can’t imagine why.
    â€œCass passed a note in third period yesterday, and he checked yes.”
    â€œWell, then, he’s not as dumb as he looks.”
    â€œHe is cute, isn’t he?”
    I hold back an eye roll. The bus rumbles up the street. Millie slides her fingers through her ponytail, staring at thecurb and maybe thinking about Rick Small, he of the big chin and tiny brain. I would have passed the note if she had asked me.
    Do you like Millie Taylor? __ Yes __ No __ Maybe
    Right now I’m leaning toward a big fat NO.
    Still, every morning I pack an extra pair of ribbons in my bag that match mine. We don’t make the plan anymore, so when she changes her hair back, how else will she know what color to use? I come ready, but I’ll never tell her this until the day she shows up with braids.

CHAPTER 6
    I n the long run, it’s hard to pick out one day from the next. When it’s happening, it seems like each day is worse than the last and will never, ever end.
    I climb off the bus behind Millie, who jets off before I can even say bye, and Z’s always waiting for me. He comes to school early because he gets to eat the free breakfast they provide for poor kids. Afterward he usually hovers by the corner of the building, trying