Mrs. White designs us a logo and Mr. White has it printed onto a Plexiglass plaque that we hang on the door: Bells and Pearls, Tailoring and Design

Iknock again on the red door, smiling ruefully. Our own door had been red for years before we realized that hey, there’s such a thing as paint, and it is now a sensible gray. But there’s something relentlessly cheerful about the red that makes me grin.

I’m no longer grinning when Pearlie opens the door and that’s mainly because my mouth has fallen open in shock. Pearlie looks… well, like a ballet girl. Her hair is down and lightly curled, her blue eyes are magnified with mascara, and her cheeks and lips are a delicate rose. She’s wearing a light blue cotton dress and soft pink ballet flats.

She looks really pretty and nothing like Pearlie.

“Help me,” she says, before I have a chance to say hi. “Please, Bella Rena, save me.”

But she’s grinning, a shy, bashful grin I’ve never seen before, and I know that she’ll deny it till she’s blue in the face, but Pearlie White of the Toms and slinky skirts does enjoy getting dressed up now and then. Phew.

“We had a bris,” she explains, as we sit on the swing on her tiny front porch.

“Well, you look great. Love your dress.”

Pearlie smiles even wider. “Well, thanks. I made it.”

My jaws drops again. “You did not.”

She cracks up. “Okay, you caught me. I did not. Except, uh, that I did.”

I’m stunned because I’m good at sewing, but she’s a whole ’nother level.

“Stand up,” I order.

She sighs and gets to her feet.

“Hmmm, okay, only thing is that I’d add shirring to the sleeves too, not just the waist.”

Pearlie looks down at herself and then up at me in wonder. “You know, with your eye, and my hand… we might really be onto something here, Ballerina.”

I grin as she settles herself back on the swing. I wait until she’s tilted her head back and closed her eyes before saying:

“Funny you should say that…”