Page 151 of The Glass Girl

“I don’t really like those clothes. I told you, I don’t like new stuff. I usually go to Goodwill or Tucson Thrift.”

“Try something new? Let me treat you. Aren’t you tired of wearing the same old things?”

She gestures to my hoodie and jeans and then to Forever21. In the display windows, the mannequins are wearing expertly torn and frayed jeans, rainbow beanies, crop tops and crop hoodies. There are bright gold balloons pinned behind them.

I look down at my ratty black low-top Chucks, comfortable and comforting.

“I’m still me,” I say to the ground, not looking up at my mother. “A thirty-dollar crop hoodie isn’t going to make it all better. Or make me what you wish I was.”

“Bella, I didn’t…” My mother lets out a long sigh. “I’m not trying to remake you.”

“I feel like you might be. This, and the hair appointment tomorrow…I do my own hair, you know that.”

“I was just trying to make you feel special,” she says, a strain of desperation in her voice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want!” I yell. “I’ve been back two days. How am I supposed to know what I want!”

A woman with curly gray hair in a pink sweatsuit huffs by us on her mall laps, giving us a concerned look.

My mother’s face falls.

Great. Now I’ve hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have asked you what you wanted to do today. Where you wanted to go. Let’s reset. Let’s go to Goodwill. How about that?”

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s do that.”

Anything to get out of here.

—

But we have problems finding parking and my mother gets irritated. And I can tell she’s disappointed that I pick out the same old things at Goodwill: baggy T-shirts, loose cardigans, jeans that are worn and comfortable-looking, flannel shirts. It’s not great for me, either. I see some kids from school walking down Fourth as we leave. They must be ditching, because it’s only two o’clock. I don’t know them by name, but one of them looks at me and elbows her friend and then all three of them are staring at me.

My mother notices them. “Are those some friends? Would you like to say hi?”

I pull on her elbow. “No andno.”

I duck my head and look at the ground the whole way back to our car.

In the car, she says we need to pick up Ricci on the way home.

I shake my head. “Can you drop me at the house? I don’t really feel like going all that way.”

My mom pauses. “Just come with me. We’ll stop on the way for eegee’s.”

“I want to go home. I’m really tired.”

“I’d rather you come with me.”

“Mom, what’s the—”

She’s not looking at me.

“Wait…,” I say slowly. It’s dawning on me now. “You don’t want me home alone. You don’t trust me.”

Her hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you. I just—”

“Do you think if you leave me alone, I’m going to run right out and find some booze?”

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