We were at the Pine Grove Galleria, our typical Saturday-afternoon destination. Today’s trip was especially important since we were picking out our shoes for Cotillion. Or Bee was. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her I’d quit Cotillion yet, but since we were already on our third store, I was going to have to do it soon. I just wasn’t sure how to break it to her in the middle of Well Heeled. The store was relatively deserted and I didn’t see anyone we knew; the only other customers were a little girl, who was probably around ten, and her mom. Still, I was beginning to wish I’d just said something in the car on the way here.

Dutifully, I continued to inspect the white high heel she’d slipped on. “Pretty,” I told her.

Bee frowned. “But not perfect.”

“I . . . don’t you think they’re a little high?”

Sighing, Bee slid her foot out of the shoe and put it back in the box. “Probably. I’m good in heels, but I don’t want to pull a Mary Beth.”

Next to us, the little girl was trying to talk her mom into buying her a pair of red sparkly ballet flats, but the mom was holding her ground. “We’re picking out church shoes, Kenley,” she said, exasperated, and I had to hide a smile.

Bee stood up and reached out, picking up a strappy sandal. She ran her fingers over the jeweled straps. “This is pretty. It would look good with your dress. Doesn’t it have sparkles?”

I tried to keep from sighing longingly. Yes, my dress had sparkles. Subtle ones, but sparkles nonetheless. And a little bustle and a short train, and about a hundred silk-covered buttons . . . and I would never wear it.

I’d been trying to work up the nerve to tell Bee all afternoon. First, I’d sworn I’d say something on the ride to the mall. And when we’d walked inside, I had been all set to say, “Actually, Bee, I’ve decided not to do Cotillion this year.”

Now we were on our third store, and I knew it was now or never.

I took the shoe from Bee’s hand and set it back on the shelf. “It would look good, but . . . I’m, um, not doing Cotillion after all.”

Bee’s mouth dropped open a bit, but no sound came out. Turning away from her, I moved over to a display of scarves. I’d never worn a scarf in my life, but I made a big show of pulling one out and examining the pattern.

“Why not?” Bee asked from behind me.