Read Online Split Just Right by Adele Griffin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adele Griffin
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when I put them on Tuesday morning, while they didn’t look stylish, they at least seemed like they were mine. Big mistake.
The curse of the ugly boots happened a couple years ago, when Mom and I went to a church rummage sale. Since we don’t belong to any church, Mom was nervous, and she kept looking around like she thought the church sheriff was going to rush over any minute and kick us out.
“Mom, you don’t have to be a member of a church to rummage here,” I whispered.
“I’m not so sure about that, Danny,” she said darkly. “But if they ask, say you belong to Saint Thomas.” We couldn’t find anything we liked, but Mom felt like she had to get something, so she impulsively bought a pair of cordovan, knee-high, cork-heeled, jangly zip-up boots. Aside from being out of style, they were way too big for her, so she chucked them into my closet, where they remained, slouched against the back wall like two old drunks in the park. But whenever I’ve tried to throw the boots away, Mom makes me keep them. I swear she thinks it would be a sacrilege to throw away church-fair boots. She can be very superstitious like that.
Tuesdays are Bradshaw’s weekly “casual day,” which means, as long as you don’t wear pants, you don’t have to wear your uniform. I’m not a fan of shopping, and most Tuesdays I’ll usually wear my uniform skirt with a sweatshirt on top. But this week, probably because Spring Fling is coming up, I’m thinking of different outfit possibilities for Saturday. So I dust off the boots and zip them up, pairing them with my short tan dress that doesn’t match any of my other shoes.
“You need panty hose,” Mom says, handing me a packet. “Otherwise, you look adorable.” That should have been warning enough. But no bells go off in my head.
As soon as I walk into homeroom, Portia claps her hands over her cheeks and starts laughing. She runs over to me. “Eww, Danny Those boots are just so, so icky, so Welcome Back, Kotter. ” She sticks out her tongue at me. “Although I have to say—I admire your nerve.”
“They’re ironic,” I say “I wore them sort of as a joke.” But then I double-check my locker just in case my basketball sneakers followed me to school. They didn’t.
All morning, I feel girls’ eyes staring down at my boots. To make matters worse, the panty hose almost immediately snag a run (I have no business wearing Mom’s size petite anyway). After lunch, I have a double free period, so I use it to go hide in the library until the end of the day. No one bothers me, and I’m almost home free until Hannah Wilder and Lacy Finn show up.
I can sense Hannah and Lacy’s presence in the library before I actually see them. Hannah and Lacy know how to make other girls aware of them—not nervous, exactly—just very conscious that they’re in the room. Maybe it’s their clinky bracelets, or their barely stifled giggles, or the perfumy smell of their hair and book bags, but as soon as they walk through the library’s double doors, I’m very aware of them.
“No, you shut up, you loser ,” Hannah hisses to Lacy
“You’re the loser,” Lacy whispers back. Hannah and Lacy always crack themselves up, calling each other names like loser, since they and everyone else in the class know how cool they are. It makes me feel uncomfortable, because it gets me wondering who they think the real losers are.
I don’t look up from the table until their minty breath practically curls into my face.
“Hey, Danny, doll face. Want one?” Lacy holds out a roll of breath mints.
“Thanks. What are you guys up to?”
“We were shortcutting to go hang out in the upstairs lounge, then we saw you and thought we’d say hi.”
“Hi.”
“You’re going to the Fling with my cousin.” Hannah slides up on the table and crosses her legs Indian style, yanking her miniskirt down between them to cover her underwear. “I talked to him last night.”
“So, what’re you wearing?” Lacy
The curse of the ugly boots happened a couple years ago, when Mom and I went to a church rummage sale. Since we don’t belong to any church, Mom was nervous, and she kept looking around like she thought the church sheriff was going to rush over any minute and kick us out.
“Mom, you don’t have to be a member of a church to rummage here,” I whispered.
“I’m not so sure about that, Danny,” she said darkly. “But if they ask, say you belong to Saint Thomas.” We couldn’t find anything we liked, but Mom felt like she had to get something, so she impulsively bought a pair of cordovan, knee-high, cork-heeled, jangly zip-up boots. Aside from being out of style, they were way too big for her, so she chucked them into my closet, where they remained, slouched against the back wall like two old drunks in the park. But whenever I’ve tried to throw the boots away, Mom makes me keep them. I swear she thinks it would be a sacrilege to throw away church-fair boots. She can be very superstitious like that.
Tuesdays are Bradshaw’s weekly “casual day,” which means, as long as you don’t wear pants, you don’t have to wear your uniform. I’m not a fan of shopping, and most Tuesdays I’ll usually wear my uniform skirt with a sweatshirt on top. But this week, probably because Spring Fling is coming up, I’m thinking of different outfit possibilities for Saturday. So I dust off the boots and zip them up, pairing them with my short tan dress that doesn’t match any of my other shoes.
“You need panty hose,” Mom says, handing me a packet. “Otherwise, you look adorable.” That should have been warning enough. But no bells go off in my head.
As soon as I walk into homeroom, Portia claps her hands over her cheeks and starts laughing. She runs over to me. “Eww, Danny Those boots are just so, so icky, so Welcome Back, Kotter. ” She sticks out her tongue at me. “Although I have to say—I admire your nerve.”
“They’re ironic,” I say “I wore them sort of as a joke.” But then I double-check my locker just in case my basketball sneakers followed me to school. They didn’t.
All morning, I feel girls’ eyes staring down at my boots. To make matters worse, the panty hose almost immediately snag a run (I have no business wearing Mom’s size petite anyway). After lunch, I have a double free period, so I use it to go hide in the library until the end of the day. No one bothers me, and I’m almost home free until Hannah Wilder and Lacy Finn show up.
I can sense Hannah and Lacy’s presence in the library before I actually see them. Hannah and Lacy know how to make other girls aware of them—not nervous, exactly—just very conscious that they’re in the room. Maybe it’s their clinky bracelets, or their barely stifled giggles, or the perfumy smell of their hair and book bags, but as soon as they walk through the library’s double doors, I’m very aware of them.
“No, you shut up, you loser ,” Hannah hisses to Lacy
“You’re the loser,” Lacy whispers back. Hannah and Lacy always crack themselves up, calling each other names like loser, since they and everyone else in the class know how cool they are. It makes me feel uncomfortable, because it gets me wondering who they think the real losers are.
I don’t look up from the table until their minty breath practically curls into my face.
“Hey, Danny, doll face. Want one?” Lacy holds out a roll of breath mints.
“Thanks. What are you guys up to?”
“We were shortcutting to go hang out in the upstairs lounge, then we saw you and thought we’d say hi.”
“Hi.”
“You’re going to the Fling with my cousin.” Hannah slides up on the table and crosses her legs Indian style, yanking her miniskirt down between them to cover her underwear. “I talked to him last night.”
“So, what’re you wearing?” Lacy
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