Sophie groaned and did one of her hair flips. “He won’t stay into you if you keep wearing sports teams’ shirts that don’t fit. Maybe he’s giving you a hint to change a little for him. I mean, seriously?”

Eve looked down at herself. That day she still wore her clothes from synagogue: a white blouse with a midcalf-length black skirt. She felt herself fingering her hamsa necklace.

Sophie looked her up and down, too. “You don’t look so bad now,” she said. “A little nunlike, maybe, but that’s it. At least I can see your waist.”

“Ha,” Eve said to herself. “Definitely not a nun.”

Sophie quizzically scrunched up her made-up face.

“I’m Jewish. These are my synagogue clothes.”

Sophie said nothing.

For a second, Eve thought that Sophie might leave. She knew that was paranoid, but she’d heard stories, stories from her dad about a long time ago, when he was a kid. Before his family had moved to St. Louis Park, Minnesota, where there were lots of other Jewish families, he’d been beaten up one time and called “Jew boy.” Her mom hadn’t had that experience, but she’d long ago taught Eve that some people still thought bad things about Jews, and that sometimes people might think those things of her, and that she should always just be herself. But whenever people found out, she had that millisecond of wondering how they’d react.

It didn’t help that recently, only a few towns away, a neo-Nazi group had marched in the streets.

But Sophie simply said, “So let’s see more of those synagogue clothes.”

Relief flooded Eve as she pulled open her closet.

Sophie flicked through Eve’s nicest clothes, piece by piece. “Some of these just scream Anne of Green Gables.”

“You like that book? It used to be my favorite!” Eve heard her voice go up an octave like it did when she got overly excited. She coughed as if to cover up what they’d both heard.

“Not really, no.” Sophie’s tone reminded Eve that Sophie hated her.

Sophie laid out a few items on Eve’s bed and placed them together in different combinations. Her focus reminded Eve of an artist before her canvas. She explained to Eve which pieces worked with which and why, both because of the colors and because of how they flattered one body part or another.

“This one’s for Monday.” Sophie pointed to a skirt and dressy shirt. “And this one’s Tuesday…” And she went through the whole week as if she were setting up a clothing syllabus.

Eve couldn’t hide her skepticism. “Um … Those are a little … fancy? For school? A little showy?”

“Showing what?” Sophie snapped. “Your chest you’re incredibly lucky to have? Your really nice clothes?” She shook her head. “Just be happy about it.”

Eve shook her head, too. “You don’t understand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie stood by the bed, hand back on hip. “Cuz I’m flat?”

“No! I just mean you don’t get it. What it’s like to be stared at like that.” Eve remembered the stares, oh gosh, those stares, which she’d gotten all summer at the pool, while she was just trying to have fun and go down the slide with Nessa like they always had.