Free Sleepover Stakeout (9780545443111) by Kim Harrington Page A

me — and his face was a little flushed. He gave a shy smile and said, “I like your new glasses, Norah. They look really good.”
    â€œThank you,” I managed to say. He smiled again, bigger this time, and continued on his way. Maya gave me a little wave as she passed.
    I let out the huge breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. I would’ve taken his words as a compliment, but Zane was probably just being nice. He was easily the kindest boy in Danville Middle School.
    Still, my heart was beating like I was on mile twenty-six of a marathon.
    My teeny, tiny, atom-size crush on Zane (okay, fine, Milky Way galaxy–size crush) kept me from noticing Fiona until she stood right in front of me.
    Fiona gaped. “Oh. My. Fashion. Goddess.”
    I whipped around to see who was standing behind me. No one. Just the locker. Then I slowly turned back. “Are you making fun of me?” I was more confused than hurt. I’d thought we were past that.
    She took another step and examined me closely. I felt like a bug under a microscope.
    â€œI can’t believe it,” she said. “Why didn’t I think of this? It’s genius. It’s what I was searching for all along!”
    I asked, “Are you, like, sleepwalking or something? Because you’re making no sense.”
    â€œThe glasses, you doofus! They’re perfect!”
    I tilted my head like my dog, Hubble, does when I babble to him and he has no clue what I’m saying. (Yes, I talk to my dog. It’s useful sometimes since he doesn’t talk back.)
    Fiona, finally realizing my cluelessness, waved her hands excitedly. “You know how I kept saying that your look was missing something but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was?”
    â€œIt was … glasses?”
    â€œYes! You look so … sophisticated.”
    Now it was my turn to be shocked. I repeated, “Sophisticated?”
    â€œAbsolutely. You look older and more confident. Maybe because you’re not all squinty and unsure-looking. And this pair you picked out …” She paused. “Wait, there’s no way you picked these. Who helped you?” She put her hands on her hips like she was insulted I’d asked someone else’s fashion advice instead of hers.
    â€œNo one. I picked them myself.” I didn’t want to tell her that I’d practically chosen them at random because I was ready to have a tantrum in the store. Let her think I’d actually made a wise fashion choice on my own for once.
    Fiona shook her head in amazement. “Wonderful pick for your face’s shape and your hair color.” She reached up and loosened my ponytail a little. “And they’re versatile with many looks. You’re just adorable, Norah Burridge!”
    â€œWow,” I said, feeling truly stunned by all these compliments. “Thanks.”
    Everyone who’d mentioned my new glasses had told me they looked great (except Slade) — but I hadn’t believed them. I’d thought they were all just being nice. Fiona, however, doesn’t do “nice” when it comes to fashion. She only knows honesty. So, if she thought the glasses were perfect for me … I believed her. I could already feel myself standing taller, feeling more confident.
    â€œHey,” Darcy said, giving me a little hip check as she got to us. “Ready to go?”
    â€œMy glasses look great,” I told her, my voice giving away my surprise.
    â€œDuh,” Darcy said. “I told you that this morning. And at lunch.” Then she looked at Fiona, back at me, and said, “But you didn’t believe it until Teen Vogue over here said it.”
    Whoops. A little nugget of guilt sat in the pit of my stomach. “Sorry?” I said with a sheepish smile. “She does know a lot about style, though.”
    â€œAnd I also know about time,” Fiona butted in. “If we’re going to have a