pick a place to eat.

Not one.

Momma and Liz

each got the all-you-can-eat

fried catfish dinner.

Right before we were ready to go,

Momma said,

I’m having company,

he’ll be visiting tomorrow night.

I’m supposed to spend

the night at Mari’s,

I said.

Liz didn’t say anything,

just looked at her plate

and her face seemed to fade.

Even her freckles.

You can go,

Momma said

to me.

Since Liz picked out

where we ate and

the colors for your room,

you can spend the

night with Mari.

Liz looked at me a second

then at the big fish tank

that’s part of Bahama Joe’s

decoration.

When we got home,

Momma only painted one

piece of furniture—a bookshelf—

yellow.

It looked crappy,

because she chose

spray paint,

and she tried to mix it,

then she quit.

And in bed that night,

with the room smelling

so that we had to open

all the windows,

Liz whispered to me,

I think it’s best you go away

tomorrow.

I was sleepy and still a little

unhappy about the day.

Can I get in bed with you?

Liz said.

Her voice sounded broken.

I almost said no,

but I changed my mind.

Yeah, if you don’t hog the covers,

I said.

I won’t,

Liz said,

and slid into

bed next to me

almost without

moving.

74.

I wish Ian could come over,

I say to Mari.

We’re on a first-name

basis with Ian

St. Clair.

We stand in the Wal-Mart

looking for hair bleach

(for me, too!)

and talking about

Mari’s upcoming boy/girl party.

A party Liz might

have come to,

if she wasn’t still in

the hospital.

That would be so cool,

Mari says.

She looks at me with

her big brown eyes.

She has the

prettiest eyes in all of Florida.

Me and Mari stand silent,

me thinking

just how great it would be

if anybody really cute

showed up.

A voice comes over

the speaker saying M&M’s

are on sale

on aisle five.

We’d have to take turns

dancing with him,

Mari says,

then she looks at the bleach.

Your hair is a lot blonder, Hope,

Mari says,

after a quiet moment,

and if I’m going to match

you I’ll need something

strong.

And light.

I think I’ll go with Buttercup Yellow.

What about you?

I’m not thinking

about bleaching my hair.

I am wondering about

anyone who is cute that

might be at Mari’s

boy/girl party.

Hope, what about you?

Mari says.

I decide right then,

why not?

I like this red,

I say,

and pull a box out

with an auburn-haired girl

on the cover.

Her hair is near

the color of Liz’s,

only shinier.

And the girl smiles big,

too.

Turning all that natural blond red,

Mari says,

like she’s her mother all the sudden,

and like this wasn’t her idea.

Then

Mari grabs me tight by the arm.

Isn’t this exciting?

she says.

And it is,

till the coloring is said

and done.

75.

Oh no.