Free The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer Page B

ground. Fancy was flexible in a way Beauty envied, but what in the world was the child wearing? One of her odd getups: a tiny pink shortie top that Beauty recognized as a Stevie castoff, a ruffled orange skirt that her mother had discarded after spilling bleach on it, way too big for Fancy but gathered together with a safety pin, and on her head a red paper crown.
    Autumn and Stevie collapsed on Beauty’s bed, under the eaves, bickering over a pair of Stevie’s jeans that Autumn had borrowed to wear to school “. . . without permission,” Stevie said, her voice just short of a shout. “And you’re way, way too big for them. You’ve probably stretched them all out of size.”
    “I did not. Anyway, I’m the same size as you.”
    “Okay, quiet down,” Beauty said, but they didn’t.
    “The same size? Oh, please! Look at your legs and look at mine.” Stevie stuck out her legs and pulled up her jeans. “Your legs are much fatter.”
    Autumn twirled her hair furiously. “I do not have fat legs. You shouldn’t say such a thing.”
    “Oh, well, if you want to believe that, what do I care.
    But we’re not the same size, not for a moment.” Stevie put her hands around her little waist and looked pointedly at 110

    her breasts, which were not little. Autumn had no breasts yet, to speak of, and not much of a waist, either. “Anyway, we don’t have to talk about it,” Stevie said. She smiled condescendingly. “You can’t borrow my clothes without permission. Got that? End of discussion.”
    “Why are you so fussy and selfish?” Autumn wailed. “I only wore them for one day.”
    “Don’t fight, you two, bad two.” Fancy spit on her fingers and clapped her hands in some obscure ritual of her own. “Don’t fight, ain’t right, tonight I’ll fly a kite, that’s a poem, that’s a good poem, I’ll tell Mrs. Sokolow my teacher tomorrow, she likes my poems.”
    But there was no stopping Stevie. She was on the righteous path. “They’re my pants, Autumn, and I am not selfish. Take that back! I just want my things left alone. I don’t want other people messing around with them.”
    “I’m not other people,” Autumn wept. “I’m your sister.”
    “You two,” Beauty said, “you two oil and water people, stop now, I have something to tell you, all of you.” She spoke too quietly. Quiet did not prevail.
    Stevie’s rational tone had evaporated, and she was talking loudly into Autumn’s ear, while Fancy had picked up on “oil and water people” and was repeating it over and 111

    over with pleasure. It was a madhouse.
    Standing near the bureau, fingering the scarf draped around her shoulders, Beauty was ready to just give up, quit trying to quiet them down. She didn’t want to deliver this message, anyway. “Be quiet,” she said again, and finally raised her voice. “All right, then, shut up. I have to tell you all something. And it’s important. So shut up. ”
    Beauty’s stomach heaved. All eyes were trained on her now. Mim nodded slightly, as if she knew it wasn’t going to be good, while Stevie pursed her lips suspiciously and Autumn’s eyes went out of focus. Only Fancy went on chanting, “Oil and water people,” mesmerizing herself.
    Mim ran two fingers across Fancy’s mouth in the zipper motion.
    Beauty pulled the ends of the scarf together, then in a sudden flush of heat said rapidly, “You know what a hard time Mommy and Poppy . . .” She faltered. Why was she using those childish names? Only Autumn, the baby of the family, and Fancy, who might as well have been the baby, called their parents by those names. “They’re having, I mean, we’re all having, we’re a family, it’s all of us—”
    What a botch of a job she was doing. She straightened her shoulders and began again. “You guys know Auntie 112

    Bernice is all alone over there in New Hampshire, and she’s lonely, and she could use some help, and things are tough here with money, you know, so Mom and Dad have