Twelve Read Online Free PDF Page B

have turned into a criminal,” Ty suggested.
    â€œHe might have,” I said. “That’s why you need to be nice to Taffy. You don’t want her to grow up to be a criminal, do you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPeople can’t help being different. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œOkay, then.” I tossed him the gray knight, then stretched over and gave him a kiss.
    Ty swiped at his cheek, and I said, “Ty!”
    â€œI only wiped the slobber off,” Ty insisted. “Not the kiss.”
    â€œYeah, right,” I said.
    He smiled his sweet-boy smile. “Night, Winnie. Love you.”
    â€œLove you, too,” I said.
    Dinah adored the mall. Amanda, before we stopped being best friends, seriously adored the mall. I, on the other hand, did not. I pretended to sometimes, because I didn’t want to be a wet blanket. And there were some mall things that were admittedly cool: the fountain, the pet store, Chick-fil-A.
    But plain old shopping? Boring with a capital B, especially if you were with your mother, and especially if she insisted on checking out the boring women’s fashions at boring Neiman Marcus with its boring racks of boring old-lady boringness.
    But boring was better than another B-word, which I hoped Mom would somehow forget, and which of course she did not, despite the gift with purchase at the Clinique counter.
    â€œAll right, Winnie, time to focus on you,” she said as I trailed her into Macy’s junior department.
    â€œI’m tired,” I said. “I need to sit down.”
    â€œYou can sit down in the dressing room,” Mom replied. “Now let’s see, I suppose they have a lingerie section for pre-teens. Do they call it ‘lingerie’ at that age?”
    I pretended I wasn’t with her. Did she have to be so loud?
    â€œExcuse me, miss?” Mom said to the nearest salesclerk. “We’re looking for a bra for a twelve-year-old. Can you point us in the right direction?”
    â€œ Mom, ” I said through gritted teeth.
    â€œWhat?” Mom said.
    â€œYou don’t have to say it,” I said.
    She closed her eyes as if she were aggrieved. She’d done that a lot this particular excursion.
    The salesclerk glanced from Mom to me. She was young, which made it worse. Her clothes were very hip.
    â€œNo worries, we have a great selection right over here,” she said. She led us past the prom dresses to a section full of socks, then past the socks to a section where everything was shiny or lacy or flowered. She pulled free a pink bra with a bow at the center. It had no cups, just flat pink triangles. “Isn’t this adorable?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œWinnie,” Mom warned, shooting me a look.
    The salesclerk laughed. “That’s okay. I remember how embarrassing it was getting my first bra.” She smiled at me as if she were my pal, which she wasn’t. She selected another bra. “How about this one? I love the little Care Bears.”
    Care Bears? On a bra? She had to be joking. But no, there they were, marching across the elastic band with their lollipops and rainbows. How old did she think I was—two?
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œThis one?” Red lace this time. And padded.
    I looked to Mom for help, then immediately looked away, remembering that she was the enemy. But that left me feeling awfully alone, and stupid, and now in the most annoying of ways I felt as if I might cry. I wrapped my arms around my chest and gazed at the prom dresses.
    â€œWe’ll take a look, and we’ll holler if we need you,” Mom said. Holler . She actually said holler .
    â€œYou got it,” said the salesclerk.
    Mom waited until she was gone. Then she said, “Winnie, stop being such a pill. I’m sorry you don’t want to be here, but you might as well make the best of it. Now. Do you see any styles you