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Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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“You won’t find a pop-it bead in there.” I could see that right away and I immediately felt embarrassed. Last year the pearly finished beads that popped together to make strands were the rage for seventh-grade girls, and Susie Grenelle and I both saved our money and bought some. “You must promise me, Georgie”— Phyllis looked at me very seriously in the mirror —“that you shall never wear pop-it beads. They are just so cheesy.”
“Oh, I promise,” I said solemnly.
“If there is one thing I had back before I got sick, it was style.”
Style,
I thought.
That’s it exactly.
That’s what Phyllis had — style. It went way beyond fads or fashion. It was just out there — not for the future, not from the past. It was timeless and completely unique.
“You know,” Phyllis was saying, “as soon as Raymond started going out with this other girl, I heard he got a flattop. Not all boys can wear flattops. His head looks like a box, I’m sure. He should have stuck with a crew cut.”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
I was completely in awe of Phyllis. When I went back home, walked into my bedroom, and sat down at my princess vanity in front of my heart-shaped mirror, I could hardly look in it. My only thought was
I am soooo ordinary!
I heard the phone ringing and then Mom called upstairs, “Georgie, it’s for you!” There was an unnatural brightness in her voice, or maybe it was a camouflage for her desperation. There would definitely be no timer for this call. I ambled to the phone hoping it was Wendy.
“Hi . . . it’s me.” I have to confess that my heart sank just a little bit. Her voice sounded even more mushroomy over the phone.
“Oh, hi, Evelyn.”
“We got back early, but I think it’s too late to go to the library now.”
“But we can talk!” I said. I wanted to tell her about my conversation with Phyllis.
“Sure!”
“You’re never going to believe this!”
“What?” Evelyn asked eagerly.
I got into my most comfy telephone-talking position, which is lying on the floor with my feet propped up against the wall. “So,” I continued, “I was over at Phyllis’s and guess what?”
“What?”
“Well, she starts asking me all about my brother, Emmett — like does he have a girlfriend, has he ever had a girlfriend . . . and I’m thinking, gads, am I hearing this right? Or am I imagining it? Or does Phyllis actually have some kind of a crush on Emmett and is wanting me to play Cupid?”
“Hmmmm . . .” Evelyn said. If ever a mushroom sighed, that was the sound. I had expected a little more excitement.
“So what do you think? I mean, isn’t it crystal clear?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Now, tell me exactly what you said and she said again.”
So I repeated the conversation as best I could, then waited for Evelyn’s response.
“OK,” she said, a new energy in her voice. My hopes picked up that she would agree with me. “Now, here’s what I think. You can’t rush to conclusions.”
“I don’t think I’m rushing.” I rearranged my feet on the wall. They had left sweaty prints with streaks of dirt. Mom wouldn’t mind. She was desperate about me, after all. But I would try and clean them off afterward. I supposed that I should wash my feet as well.
“You’re not rushing, but you must proceed in a logical fashion. This is the basis of scientific inquiry — hypothesis, exploration through testing the hypothesis, evidence, data, then conclusion. Has she ever used the word
date
as in, she would like to date him?”
“Evelyn!” I blurted out. “This is romance, not pea shoots.” What she had just described sounded exactly like the science experiment I did last year with pea shoots growing toward light.
Evelyn started laughing so hard she finally, through gulps, gasped, “Pea shoots! I got to go before I pee in my pants.” Then I started laughing, and so ended our second phone conversation. It had been the most fun I had had in a long time.
Five minutes later,
“Oh, I promise,” I said solemnly.
“If there is one thing I had back before I got sick, it was style.”
Style,
I thought.
That’s it exactly.
That’s what Phyllis had — style. It went way beyond fads or fashion. It was just out there — not for the future, not from the past. It was timeless and completely unique.
“You know,” Phyllis was saying, “as soon as Raymond started going out with this other girl, I heard he got a flattop. Not all boys can wear flattops. His head looks like a box, I’m sure. He should have stuck with a crew cut.”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
I was completely in awe of Phyllis. When I went back home, walked into my bedroom, and sat down at my princess vanity in front of my heart-shaped mirror, I could hardly look in it. My only thought was
I am soooo ordinary!
I heard the phone ringing and then Mom called upstairs, “Georgie, it’s for you!” There was an unnatural brightness in her voice, or maybe it was a camouflage for her desperation. There would definitely be no timer for this call. I ambled to the phone hoping it was Wendy.
“Hi . . . it’s me.” I have to confess that my heart sank just a little bit. Her voice sounded even more mushroomy over the phone.
“Oh, hi, Evelyn.”
“We got back early, but I think it’s too late to go to the library now.”
“But we can talk!” I said. I wanted to tell her about my conversation with Phyllis.
“Sure!”
“You’re never going to believe this!”
“What?” Evelyn asked eagerly.
I got into my most comfy telephone-talking position, which is lying on the floor with my feet propped up against the wall. “So,” I continued, “I was over at Phyllis’s and guess what?”
“What?”
“Well, she starts asking me all about my brother, Emmett — like does he have a girlfriend, has he ever had a girlfriend . . . and I’m thinking, gads, am I hearing this right? Or am I imagining it? Or does Phyllis actually have some kind of a crush on Emmett and is wanting me to play Cupid?”
“Hmmmm . . .” Evelyn said. If ever a mushroom sighed, that was the sound. I had expected a little more excitement.
“So what do you think? I mean, isn’t it crystal clear?”
“Well, I’m not sure. Now, tell me exactly what you said and she said again.”
So I repeated the conversation as best I could, then waited for Evelyn’s response.
“OK,” she said, a new energy in her voice. My hopes picked up that she would agree with me. “Now, here’s what I think. You can’t rush to conclusions.”
“I don’t think I’m rushing.” I rearranged my feet on the wall. They had left sweaty prints with streaks of dirt. Mom wouldn’t mind. She was desperate about me, after all. But I would try and clean them off afterward. I supposed that I should wash my feet as well.
“You’re not rushing, but you must proceed in a logical fashion. This is the basis of scientific inquiry — hypothesis, exploration through testing the hypothesis, evidence, data, then conclusion. Has she ever used the word
date
as in, she would like to date him?”
“Evelyn!” I blurted out. “This is romance, not pea shoots.” What she had just described sounded exactly like the science experiment I did last year with pea shoots growing toward light.
Evelyn started laughing so hard she finally, through gulps, gasped, “Pea shoots! I got to go before I pee in my pants.” Then I started laughing, and so ended our second phone conversation. It had been the most fun I had had in a long time.
Five minutes later,
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