The Kind of Friends We Used to Be Read Free Page A

little kid, a song about the sun coming up in the morning and the birds flying through the trees.
    “I’m learning how to play guitar,” she told Marylin. “It’s pretty fun.”
    “When did you get a guitar?” asked Marylin. Kate could tell from her tone of voice that she wasn’t entirely sure playing the guitar was such a great thing to do.
    “Flannery lent it to me,” Kate said. “I ran into her this morning.”
    “Is her hair still pink?”
    “It’s even pinker.”
    Marylin laughed. “Can you even believe we used to be friends with her?”
    “You used to be friends with her,” Kate pointed out. “Flannery and I were not friends. In fact, today was probably the second time in my life that Flannery was the least bit friendly to me.”
    “All I’m saying is that she’s really strange.” Marylin paused. “In fact, you probably shouldn’t be borrowing stuff from her. You don’t want people to connect the two of you together. Besides, I don’t know about you playing guitar. It’s sort of... like something a guy would do, I guess.”
    Marylin sounded like a school counselor or an advice columnist, someone who knew a lot about life and was there to guide you along the way.
    “Girls play guitar,” Kate protested. “There are lots of famous girl guitar players.”
    “But not in seventh grade,” Marylin pointed out. “Seventh grade is a time for, I don’t know,hanging out with your group of friends and getting ready for high school. It’s about finding your own personal style. That’s what Mazie says. She says this year we are going to focus on finding our own personal style together.”
    “How can finding your personal style be a group project?”
    “Easy!” Marylin exclaimed, and then she began to tell Kate how each middle-school cheerleader was going to subscribe to a different fashion magazine, and every month they would gather together and look at magazines and give one another fashion tips.
    Kate softly strummed an A minor, which she discovered was as easy to play as an E minor, and just as sad sounding. She liked playing guitar. She was pretty sure she was going to be good at it.
    And, if she was being perfectly honest with herself—and why shouldn’t she be?—she liked the idea that Marylin didn’t like it. Because Marylin might have been one of Kate’s best friends, but that didn’t mean she knew everything in the world. In fact, in Kate’s opinion,Marylin had made some pretty poor choices. Middle-school cheerleading. Mazie Calloway. And now fashion magazine subscriptions.
    In fact, sometimes Kate thought maybe she should be the one giving advice to Marylin. Drop cheerleading. Make friends with people who have good values. Ignore fashion.
    Play guitar.

    Kate and her mom were having a hard time agreeing on what shoes to buy.
    “Let me get this straight,” Mrs. Faber said, rubbing her forehead, like she felt a headache coming on. “You don’t want tennis shoes for school anymore. You want those.”
    She pointed to a pair of black lace-up boots. They weren’t combat boots exactly, but they were close to it, thick and heavy, like they were made for stomping.
    Kate nodded. They were exactly what she wanted.
    “But, Kate, they must weigh five pounds. They look uncomfortable. They don’t go with anything you have to wear.”
    “They don’t have to go with anything,” Kate insisted. “In fact, that’s what I like about them. They’re like the opposite of everything I have.”
    Mrs. Faber took a deep breath, let it out. “It’s happening, isn’t it? You’re turning into a teenager. I need to be calm and not panic. Living with your sister has taught me that about dealing with teenagers: Whatever you do, don’t panic.”
    Kate’s sister Tracie was fifteen. She was a little too girly for Kate’s taste, with a brief cheerleading past and a dresser covered with hairspray bottles and tiny pots and tubes of makeup, all caps, tops, and lids permanently off. She had seventeen