Extraordinary Read Online Free PDF Page A

also, I really want—it’s strange—but I really want—just for a while—I want—” Her voice trailed off.
    â€œWhat?” Phoebe asked. “What do you want?”
    Mallory’s fingers reached for Phoebe’s hands now, clasping. Her voice held a mix of anger and wonder. “I want to be your friend.”
    Phoebe squeezed Mallory’s hands back. And then—she couldn’t help it—she reached out exuberantly to give Mallory a long, warm hug. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “You’re not alone, you know. I won’t let you be alone and in trouble.”
    It was like hugging someone who didn’t even know what a hug was. Awkwardly, Mallory patted Phoebe’s shoulder. Then, when the girls stepped away and looked at each other, and Phoebe smiled encouragingly, Phoebe saw Mallory turn sharply away.
    Was she crying?
    â€œIt’ll be okay,” Phoebe said again, not knowing what else to say.
    Mallory’s reply was low and choked. “No. It is so very much not okay. You have no idea.”
    But after a couple of minutes, she straightened her shoulders and met Phoebe’s gaze openly, clearly, and with determination, though her cheeks were still wet. “I’ll get changed,” she said. She even smiled. “We’ll go to your house and do what you say, Phoebe. My friend. I’ll figure out the rest later.”
    â€œWith my help,” Phoebe said.
    Mallory turned away.

chapter 4
    Within a few hours, after dinner, Phoebe was showing Mallory around her house. Things had gone just exactly as Phoebe had hoped and known they would, once her mother met Mrs. Tolliver and absorbed the story that Phoebe had told her first, privately.
    â€œPhoebe,” Catherine Rothschild had just said, “your father and I would like to sit with Mrs. Tolliver for a while and talk. Why don’t you show Mallory around? You don’t mind my sending the girls off, do you, Annemarie? We should discuss those ideas I have, to make your life easier.”
    â€œAll right.” Mrs. Tolliver was sitting upright in her chair with her hands laced in her lap, although she kept stealing glances at the little candy dish of Skittles nearby. “I’m very interested. Thank you, Catherine.”
    â€œMy secretary’s on her way too. You won’t mind? She’s so good at brainstorming and we’ll want her to make the phone calls and appointments for us tomorrow. I might actually assign her to you for a while, if you don’t mind that.”
    â€œNot at all,” said Mrs. Tolliver faintly.
    â€œRun along, girls,” said Catherine. “Come back in, oh, an hour, perhaps.”
    â€œThanks, Mom,” said Phoebe. She smiled at Mallory—a little sheepishly—and led her from the room.
    Mallory was silent as Phoebe conducted her through the house, room after room after room. After room. Of course the Rothschild house was nothing like the ranch house that the Tollivers were living in, and Mallory’s silence made Phoebe squirm inside with a familiar feeling of helplessness. When they reached the library, Phoebe was swept with a very particular déjà vu.
    Fifth grade. The first time she’d brought Colette Williams-White home. They’d been in this same enormous bookshelf-lined room, with its wood-beamed ceiling and twin reading nooks and leaded glass windows and the stone fireplace that a large man could stand up in. And Colette had suddenly spun on Phoebe. “Talk about spoiled rotten Jewish American princesses!” Colette had said, her cheeks pink with fury—and then Colette had burst into tears. Which had forced Phoebe to tend to her.
    â€œWhoa,” Phoebe said now. She sat down abruptly on one of the leather chairs that surrounded the library’s central table.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Mallory.
    Phoebe hesitated. Mallory had been so quiet during the tour, looking around the