“Well,” I began, thinking fast. “There’s the person who was obsessed with his adopted sister, and they basically ran wild together until one day he overheard her saying something unflattering about him and he had a hissy fit and ran away. When he finally came back, he was so furious that she’d married their namby-pamby neighbor, he went and married the wussy guy’s sister. And then he was so horrible to everyone they basically died of sheer misery.”
Arden stared at me wide-eyed.
“I know. And there are people who thinkWuthering Heightsis a classic romance, even though the so-called hero has the emotional maturity of a two-year-old.”
“But somebody takes him down in the end, right?” Lydia asked.
“His childhood love comes back to haunt him after she bites it.” I gave a grudging shrug. “That part is actually pretty cool. But I don’t know if it relates to anyone here.”
Arden patted my hand. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get out there and meet more people very soon. In fact, I thought we might tackle another item on my list this afternoon. Add a little moreseasoningto your life. If you get what I’m saying.”
Lydia placed the cover on her lunchbox, snapping the corners into place. “What are we in for this time? I need to mentally prepare myself.”
“It’s a totally fundamental experience. Fanciness, luxury, and excitement, all under one roof!”
“For the record,” Lydia announced, “I am not getting my eyebrows waxed. Or anything else.”
“It’s nothing like that.” Arden self-consciously smoothed her own slender brows.
“The DMV,” Lydia guessed.
“No, we’re not taking Lady Mary to wait in a really long line.” A smidgen of testiness had crept into Arden’s voice. “It’s way better than that.”
Lydia turned to Terry. “Help me out here. What am I missing?”
“Black-market organ smuggling?”
Not even Arden had a response to that one.
“I saw it on an episode ofUnderground Forensics. This girl went to a party at a warehouse, and she thought the drinks tasted a little funny. When she woke up the next day she felt rough stitches in her lower back.” Terry pressed a hand to one side of her spine. “It turned out they’d stolen one of her kidneys.”
Lydia nodded as if this were a possibility that merited consideration.
“They say people pay more for young organs.” Terry’s already soft voice trailed off when she saw the look on Arden’s face.
“The mall,” Arden said through gritted teeth. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I’ll just tell you. No one’s getting cut open. We’re going to the freaking mall!”
“That’s cool,” said Lydia. “I need a new sports bra.”
Dear Diary,
I’ve never been to Italy, but I feel like I’ve gotten a taste of it in books, like traveling to Florence with Lucy Honeychurch inA Room with a View. Someday I’ll visit places like that in real life—touch the ancient stones of famous buildings, eat amazing food, wander the glorious countryside.
Just the thought of the great big world waiting out there makes me excited to grow up and have thrilling adventures in exotic locales.
M.P.M.
Chapter 11
Technically this wasn’t my first tripto Gatewood Mall. I’d tagged along once or twice when Cam needed equipment from the sporting goods store. Our mother vociferously opposed further incursions into the sprawling emporium on the grounds that we should support smaller merchants in Millville—and also because the mall was “a soul-sucking hellhole.”
I didn’t mention that part to Arden, who seemed anxious for everyone to have fun. She began the tour by narrating the parking options, with recommendations according to both weather and shopping priorities. Because the early September afternoon was sticky with heat, we opted for a covered lot near one of the fancy department stores.
Stepping inside the gleaming interior, with its glass-fronted displays and expensively dressed mannequins, I felt a frisson of panic. Forget visiting the village milliner to buy a new ribbon for your bonnet; there was no way I could afford so much as a barrette in this place. My only source of pocket money was pet-sitting for Bo’s family during their travels, and I’d already spent most of last summer’s earnings on snack runs.
“This is more of a grown-up-lady store,” Arden whispered, linking her elbow through mine. “We’re just doing a stroll-through, to soak up the atmosphere, though it is excellent for special occasions.”
My neck muscles released some of their tension. Living beyond one’s means was a frequently fatal condition for young women in classic literature, on par with malicious gossip or falling in love with the wrong person.
