"Sometimes I just want to shake you and tell you to look around, and see what other people are going through"

I smile at the girl in the mirror and stick out my tongue. Eep, I love my tan. And Sundays. Have I mentioned I love Sundays? My phone pings, it’s Atara, informing me she’ll be over soon.

I plop back onto my neatly made bed and doze until there’s a gentle knock on my door, and Atara sticks her head in.

“Hey, hey!”

I jump up and give her a hug. I haven’t seen her in a week. She looks great, as usual. I quiet the tinge of envy that flares up.

“Your tan!”

“Your skirt!”

Ohmygosh, her skirt is fabulous, a dark tiered chambray that I am instantly jealous of.

We plop onto the rug, and Atara kicks off her shoes and starts stretching. Wow, I think I forgot that we used to do that.

“So tell me everything, how was the trip, did it work out with Babby being there, and what happened with Goldie?”

I smile, I love that she knows everything about my life.

So I tell her. I describe the beaches and malls and pools, and then I tell her about my DMCs with Babby and how we bonded. I stop, scared that I’ve been insensitive again about her grandmother’s death, but she seems fine.

“Wow. Bell, that is some grown-up stuff….”

“I know. Weird, huh?”

“You, grown-up? Totally weird.”

We laugh but then Atara stands up abruptly. “Kay, I’d better go.”

I blink. “What?”

Atara’s face is red. “Yeah, just, uh, going to the store for my mother.”

I jump up and smooth my own, non-fabulous skirt. “I’ll come with you!”

“NO!”

I stare at her. “Atara, what on earth is going on?”