“You sure you don’t want to go to a regular store?” Kira asked, pushing aside hangers on the “Ladies’ Blouses” rack with more force than necessary. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good thrift shop find, but if we’re revamping your whole wardrobe, I gotta tell you: this island has a big retired people population and they do a lot of the donating….It’s going to be mostly ‘active adult senior’ style.”

“Not everything.”

She held up a coral-hued turtleneck shirt.

“Okay, not a winner, but keep looking. There will be gems in here, I’m telling you.”

“Lot of jewel tones, for sure,” she sighed, and pulled out a deep royal-blue silk blouse with an attached neck bow. “Come on, man.”

“Okay,” I said, “but it’s three bucks! And see, I take off the sleeves and the bow and hem it, and it’ll look—”

“Like a weird thing an assistant principal would wear. Muir. You’re perpetually annoyed at old people but then you’re determined to dress like one. Please let me show you the ways of bargain hunting for stuff that was made in this century.”

It was too humiliating to explain that a bargain for her would be two weeks’ worth of allowance for me. Never had I wanted clothes that might draw, if not attention, then at least appreciation for not being the same thing I’d worn the day before. And the day before that.

I would never say it out loud, not to Kira, not to Francine or even to Joellen, but I wanted to feel like Kira did every day; the way pretty girls feel and take for granted. Wanting that embarrassed me. I shouldn’t need it. That kind of external validation is not what an independent person requires. But I wanted it.

My plastic wallet featured a picture of Disney’s Bambi. He and I, just two orphans looking to figure shit out. It was full of some cash I was willing to part with. But it had to stretch far.

“You just need some stuff to mix in with the clothes you already have. Like, okay, jeans but then not the sweater-vest. T-shirts but maybe with a skirt. Get kicky. You’re seventeen. We’ll never look this good in our lives again, ever.”

I sighed. “Okay. One regular store, but if it’s too much we’re coming back here.”

She tossed the blue blouse on the rack and pulled me out the door to run three blocks to the shops on Main Street.

“Here,” she said, pushing past tourists to a rack shoved in the corner of a tiny boutique. She held a beautiful pale pink sweater under my chin. “Try this. And this.” Skirts, jeans, three tops, and the sweater.

“Did you even look at the tags?” I whispered.

“Yes! I know what I’m doing, get in there.”