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

pairs of shoes and not one single thick-heeled, lace-up black boot.
    “I need those boots,” Kate told her mom. “They’re going to be part of my new look at school this year. You want me to care what I look like, don’t you? You’re always bugging me to comb my hair.”
    “It’s one thing to comb your hair,” Mrs. Faber said. “It’s another thing to dress like a thug, even if you’re not one. Maybe especially ifyou’re not one. What kind of fashion statement are you trying to make, Kate? ‘Look at me wrong and I’ll beat you upI’?”
    “Mom,” Kate said, and she could hear the whine in her voice, which sounded distressingly like the whine she’d been hearing in Tracie’s voice for the last three years. She decided to change tactics. Standing up straight, she said, “I’ll pay for half. I’ve still got birthday money, plus some dog-walking money from this summer from when the Weinerts went out of town.”
    “You want those boots that much?”
    Kate nodded. “I really do.”
    Mrs. Faber shrugged, then waved at a salesperson. “If you’re willing to pay for half, I suppose I have no choice. But those are the only shoes I’m buying you, other than sneakers for PE. Is that understood?”
    “Understood.”
    Until today, Kate had never gotten why shopping made people feel so happy. She’d always hated shopping, hated trying stuff on, hated having to parade around in front of hermom, who was always telling her to stand up straighter or pull her tummy in.
    But now, the plastic bag with SHOEVILLE written on it in bright red letters dangling from her wrist, she felt lighter somehow, different. Could shoes really change a person’s life? She was beginning to think they could.
    “Let’s get a lemonade, you want to?” Mrs. Faber asked. “One hour of shopping and I’m completely worn out. We’ll take a little break and then go to one more place, okay? I think that’s all I’m up for today.”
    They found a table at the food court that was only halfway covered with crumbs and spilled soda. Mrs. Faber wiped up what she could with a tissue from her purse, then went to buy their drinks. Kate sat down and opened her bag. She just wanted a little peek at her boots, just a little sniff of the shiny new leather.
    “Hey there, Kate!”
    Kate snatched her hand out of the Shoeville bag, like she’d been caught trying to steal something. Andrew O’Shea stood in front of her, a goofy grin on his face. “I don’t knowwhy,” he said, “but I never thought I’d see you at the mall. The basketball courts, definitely. Shoeville”—he pointed at the bag—“maybe not so much.”
    A girl stood behind him. She was skinny and pale, with the kind of milky white skin you could see the veins underneath, like the little blue highway lines on a map. She had white blond hair, the same as Andrew, and glasses like his too.
    “Is that your cousin?” Kate asked, nodding toward the girl.
    “Becky?” Andrew’s voice cracked on the K and went screeching into the Y. “No, Becky’s my ...” He seemed to be struggling to find the right word.
    “We go together,” the girl said. “We belong to the same swimming pool.”
    “Wow, you must get red as a lobster,” Kate said before she could stop herself. “I mean,” she added, trying to make it not sound like an insult, “you look like you might burn sort of easy.”
    The girl turned pink, but she managed tolaugh. “My dad says my skin’s so white, you could lose me in a snowstorm.”
    Once upon a time, Kate and Andrew had almost been boyfriend and girlfriend. Actually had been boyfriend and girlfriend for about twenty-four hours before Kate panicked and shut the whole thing down. So she didn’t know how to feel about this Becky. Should she automatically hate her? Only how could you hate a girl who was nice enough not to take an unintentionally rude remark the wrong way? Who could laugh at her own state of albino-ness?
    “I got some boots,” Kate told the girl.