Free This Is Me From Now On by Barbara Dee

she held up a heart-shaped silver locket on an almost completely knot-free chain.
    â€œLook at this,” she said. “Gorgeous, huh?”
    I took it from her. Under the chandelier light, you could see the initials SP and TR inscribed in a fancy, hard-to-read, old-fashioned script: SP. TR.
    â€œVery elegant,” I said. “Does your aunt ever wear it?”
    â€œLord no. It was a present from Tristan Royce. As far as Aunt Sam is concerned, he can absolutely fry. Ooh, wait, Evie, I think I’ve got them. Here,” she said, forcing something into my hand.
    Immediately I recognized the long, fancy earrings Francesca was wearing at Staples. The golden chandeliers. The Oscar earrings.
    â€œYou like them? Try them on. Don’t worry,” she added, before I could argue. “They aren’t even real.”
    She grabbed a hand mirror that was lying around somewhere and held it up for me. I slipped off my own tiny silver hoops that I’d bought at the mall last summer, and slipped on the long, dangly gold ones.
    Then I peeked at myself.
    I moved my head. The earrings swished.
    Plinka, plinka, plinka.
    â€œAll right, Evie, now listen to me: You’re keeping them,” Francesca said, laughing. “No arguments.”
    I took a breath. “Don’t be crazy, Francesca.”
    â€œWhy not? Aunt Sam has a million others; she won’t even notice they’re gone. Or care. And, anyway, they look utterly brilliant on you.”
    I had to admit they did. They shimmered. They lit up my used-to-be-blonder hair. They made my eyes glow.
    But. “They belong to your aunt,” I said. “Besides, I’d never wear something like this. In a majillion years.”
    â€œI know,” she said thoughtfully. “And that’s your problem.”
    I pretend-laughed. “My problem is I won’t wear these earrings? I thought you said my problem was—”
    â€œYour
problem,
Evie, is that you have all these bloody
rules
about yourself. Good earrings and bad earrings. Chocolate chip ice cream and veggie burgers. You know, sometimes your life just needs a little jolt.”
    â€œOh, come on, Francesca. I didn’t say they were
bad—
”
    Suddenly we heard a door bang open. “FRANCES-CAAAA,” a loud voice called.
    â€œHelp, it’s Aunt Sam,” Francesca muttered. “We shouldn’t be in here.”
    She yanked my arm.
    â€œWait,” I hissed. “The earrings.”
    â€œNo time,” she said. “Just take them, Evie.
Go.
”
    She shoved me into the hall. I ran down the steps and slipped my feet into my sandals.
    â€œWhere are you, sugarpie?” Samantha Pattison called from the kitchen.
    â€œComing,” Francesca answered casually.
    I snatched my backpack, which I’d left at the front door when we spotted the rabbit. And it was only when I was nearly three-quarters of the way home that I realized we’d never written that letter to Angelica Beaumont’s sister.

chapter 8
    When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was on her cell, stir-frying some veggies with her other hand. “I completely agree, the mudroom is hopeless,” she was saying. “And my professional advice is, get rid of that wall. Yup. Just rent a bulldozer and knock the whole thing down.” She noticed me. “Dinner in ten minutes,” she mouthed.
    I nodded, which made the earrings jiggle. So I immediately stopped nodding.
    The kitchen phone rang.
    â€œJust a minute, Caroline,” Mom said into her cell. “Evie, can you answer it, please? Bring it into the living room, takedown any messages, and then immediately go wash up for dinner.”
    Yes, Your Majesty,
I thought. I moved an earring out of the way, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
    â€œEvie? Where’ve you been?” Nisha was asking. She sounded worried. “Why didn’t you answer your cell? I’ve been calling you all