The Sister Solution Read Free Page A

there.”
    â€œPlenty of people I know are going to be there. I’llnever hear the end of it if you show up looking like the tin man. Jorgianna, I don’t want you making an idiot of yourself.”
    â€œHardly. My IQ is—”
    â€œA bazillion and two, I know. You might have a high IQ, but your taste score is, like, four.”
    â€œIt is not! You’re the one with no sense of fashion. All you ever wear is brown or black. Talk about boring—”
    â€œTemper, Jorgianna.”
    I growled. Why is it every time somebody tells you to calm down it only makes you madder?
    â€œI love how you manage to somehow squeeze your IQ score into every conversation,” said my sister.
    â€œIt’s not every conversation,” I shouted as she left the bathroom with my box of dye. “Sammi, give me back—”
    â€œNot a chance.”
    â€œYou care too much about what other people think.”
    â€œAnd you don’t care enough.”
    She is wrong about that. I do care. I only pretend not to. I’venever had a best friend, unless you count Darwin, but he’s a guinea pig. It would be nice to have a friend that’s my own species.
    I gave in to my sister on the hair, but not my outfit— never my outfit. I might do all my homework and ace almost every test to please everybody else, but fashion is for me. I love the freedom it gives me to express myself. Tonight I’ve got on a parrot-green sweater. Dyed-to-match pom-poms trim the crewneck and dangle from the short, puffed sleeves. Below that, I’m wearing a fuchsia poof skirt with white polka dots, white lace tights, and white vinyl Victorian ankle boots. Bright green and pink for a bright girl in a bright mood—that’s me!
    I turn to inspect the girl who is inspecting me. She has on a butter-colored tee with a draped neck and the most expensive Bitterroot designer jeans you can buy (the ocean-blue swirl on the front pocket gives it away). Parted by a thin yellow hairband, light-blond hair falls to her elbows. She is wearing a pair of four-hundred-dollar Sassy Girl sandals, and her toes are painted clear with a touch of glitter. A tinygold shamrock hangs around her neck, with matching shamrocks hanging from her ears.
    â€œI don’t mean to be rude,” she says, “it’s just . . . I mean, I was wondering—”
    I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know Halloween is seven months away, and no, I am not joining the circus, and yes, my mother knows I left the house looking like this. Did I cover everything?”
    â€œI . . . uh . . . guess so.”
    I lean in to take a closer look at the skinny unicorn. I can feel myself start to relax. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but the third degree gets old. Also, my sister is right. I do have a bit of a temper. Okay, more than a bit.
    â€œI don’t blame you for being defensive,” says Shamrock. “All I meant . . . I mean, what I was going to say was I think your outfit is amazing to the tenth power.”
    I eye her suspiciously. Technically, there is no such math equation.
    â€œYour hair, too. The spikes are edgy but not over the top.”
    I exhale. “Thanks.”
    â€œYour style is so fun.” Shamrock stands back tostudy me as if I am one of the art exhibits. “It’s cool, yet with a touch of Alice in Wonderland. Very quirky but also—what’s the word I’m looking for?” She snaps her fingers. “Chic.”
    Did I hear angels? Someone in this town, finally, gets me.
    â€œThanks,” I say again, this time with real feeling.
    â€œI really like the way you’ve put all those colors together,” she says. “That’s where I have trouble. I never know what goes with what.”
    â€œYou can’t go wrong with complementary colors,” I say. “Those are the ones that are opposite each other on the color wheel.”
    â€œColor