Free Year of Mistaken Discoveries by Eileen Cook Page B

sure that Ryan in my science class had looked at my butt. This was the downside to not living through a war as a refugee hiding out from Nazis. Nothing to write about. The upsides of a Nazi-free life are more obvious.
One thing our buddy Anne did was to write to Kitty in her diary. Seemed more personal that way, less cheesy than saying “Dear Diary.” I doubt you’ll ever see this, but somehow writing it to you feels right. We always planned to find our moms together. Maybe once I’ve done it you’ll decide to try it too—then you can use this as a guide. Make things easier for you. Seems like that is the least I could do, after all our years of being friends. Even if you never do, including you in this project seems like the right thing. So let’s get started!
Tip #1: If you want to find your family, start with figuring out what you already know.
    I closed the book and let out a shaky breath. This would work. It was going to be better than just working. It was perfect. It was exactly the kind of project that would make the Duke admissions counselors sit up and take notice. Adopted girl searches for her birth mom to complete the promise she made to her former best friend who died too young. It was the kind of senior project that made people choke up. They’d see me as more than just a bunch of test scores that weren’t quite up to snuff. Nora had always wanted me to join her on the great birth-mom quest. Doing this was a way to make it up to her for blowing her off. It was like finishing her business. Brody had to agree. I picked up the phone to call him and then put it back down. It would be harder for him to say no to me face-to-face. I was going to have to sell him on the idea. I couldn’t let him know how I was sure Duke would like the project, and how I was willing to do almost anything in order to get in. It was pretty clear he wasn’t that impressed by Duke. He needed to think I was doing it because it was the right thing and that it was good for Nora.
    I looked at the clock. There was still time before I expected my mom home. No time like the present to get started, and Nora had even given me the first step.
    I slid open the hall closet door. I stood on my tiptoes and slipped the scrapbook out from under the odds and ends that had been stacked on top of it, extra lightbulbs and a bulk package of paper towels.
    AVERY’S STORY was written on top in raised pink-and-blue plaid letters. You wouldn’t think my mom would be crafty. She looked like she would be way more comfortable with a briefcase and law textbooks than with markers or pinking shears, but she could bust out a glue gun like no one else. The scrapbook was mine. It had my name right across the cover, but it still felt a bit like stealing. I stuffed the book under my arm and went back into my room.
    The first few pages of the scrapbook had pictures of my parents, looking impossibly young. My dad had a beard that made him resemble a reject from a hippie commune, and my mom had a weird spiky haircut. My mom had drawn thought bubbles coming out of their heads that said things like Dreaming of Babies or New Daddy to Be .
    The next page was dedicated to a giant eight-by-ten baby picture of me. The caption below read Avery: Two Hours Old . I looked way older than two hours old. My face was all wrinkled and red. I looked like a six-pound ninety-year-old woman. My head was also strangely cone shaped. No wonder they put aknitted hat on it; I was practically deformed. I was lucky anyone had wanted me, looking like that. There was also a picture of my parents holding me. They’d bought me an outfit to come home in that looked like it was about three sizes too big. My parents both looked dazed in the picture, as if they couldn’t quite believe someone had just handed them an actual baby.
    I flipped to the next page, where there was an envelope taped down and the caption read Welcome to the World Letter from Avery’s Birth Mom . I’d read the letter before.