Free Twelve by Lauren Myracle Page B

underwear at that); the girl who was forcibly held down while two other girls shaved her eyebrows off.
    â€œ Why ?” I said.
    â€œWho knows?” Amanda said. “But it’s true. It happened to the daughter of one of my mom’s friends. The mean girls told her she should wax because her eyebrows were hairy, but she didn’t. So they invited her to a slumber party, and she was all excited because she thought, ‘Oh good, I’m finally in their group.’ And then they held her down and shaved her eyebrows off.”
    â€œThat’s terrible ,” I said. I passed the Mike and Ike’s to Amanda and drew my knees to my chest. Stories like these made me want to stay in elementary school forever. Seriously. And Mom was worried about me being with Amanda? She was crazy.
    â€œWhat’d she do?” I asked. “The shaved-eyebrow girl.”
    â€œI don’t know. Probably switched schools—I would.”
    â€œBut then you wouldn’t be with me anymore,” I said.
    â€œIf I was eyebrowless, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone, ” she said.
    â€œStill,” I said. I worked at a bit of candy with my tongue. “Anyway, that would never happen. And the reason it’ll never happen is because we will be together. Right? I would never let anyone shave your eyebrows off.”
    â€œThanks,” Amanda said. “But my eyebrows aren’t the slightest bit bushy. My mom says that’s lucky, because I’ll never have to pluck.”
    â€œYou’ve talked about plucking your eyebrows?” I said.
    She looked at me, like you haven’t?
    It caught me off guard, this feeling of being one step behind even with someone I’d known all my life.
    â€œI wish Gail would get back from camp already,” Amanda said wistfully.
    My heart twinged. I was the one who’d made a point of bringing her Mike and Ike’s, not missing-in-action Gail.
    â€œWhat, I’m not good enough?” I joked.
    She snorted. “Right, you’re not good enough. You’re just a replacement until she comes home.” She flopped back on the trampoline. “Come on . . . don’t you miss Dinah?”
    â€œWhy would I miss Dinah? She’s not out of town.”
    â€œOh,” Amanda said. It was obvious she was surprised.
    â€œI just called her this very day,” I said, feeling as if I had to go on.
    â€œWell . . . good,” Amanda said. “I like Dinah.”
    â€œI do, too,” I said.
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI know you know.”
    This was dumb. I hopped off the trampoline. I liked Amanda and I liked Dinah—was that so hard to understand? Did we have to go through all this again, just when we’d refound each other? Maybe this was what Mom meant when she said she didn’t want me getting hurt. Maybe, secretly, Mom knew I wanted Amanda to like me better than she liked Gail, just as maybe, secretly, I liked Amanda better than Dinah.
    I think.
    Sometimes I did, even though Dinah and I had fun in a way that never left me feeling stranded.
    But seventh grade would be easier with Amanda by my side; harder with Dinah. That much I knew. Dinah would be the one, if it fell upon anyone, who got de-eyebrowed. Which would be terrible! That’s not what I wanted at all.
    All of a sudden I wasn’t sure what I wanted, and I started back toward the condominium complex. In my confusion, I headed in the wrong direction.
    â€œThat’s not the way,” Amanda said from the trampoline. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI’m taking a shortcut,” I said.
    â€œTo where ?” Amanda called. “You’re not leaving, are you?” I didn’t answer, just pressed on ahead. I was tangled up inside myself. Maybe people sometimes got hurt—or hurt each other—without it being on purpose. But did that mean you should just . . . walk away from it all? I felt in some unclear way like that wasn’t