Anastasia at This Address by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online Page A

terrific dresses?" Sonya wailed.
    "No, you idiot. I meant sacrifice our principles, just for one day," Daphne explained.
    "I agree," Anastasia said. "It wouldn't be chasing. And it would help out the wedding, after all, so that if won't be a flop. We wouldn't want Meredith's family to have a flop of a wedding."
    Meredith nodded. "Sonya?" she asked. "I don't want to do it unless it's unanimous."
    Sonya sighed. "Okay," she said after a moment. "Let's invite them. Norman's address is—"
    "I know Norman's address," Meredith said. She reached down to her pocketbook on the floor and pulled out a group of stamped, addressed envelopes held together by a rubber band. "Here they are. I lied when I said they weren't addressed yet."
    Sonya began to laugh. She crumpled the empty box of animal crackers and tossed it at Meredith. "I'm starving," she said. "Moral decisions are very appetite-producing. Do you have anything else to eat, Anastasia? Nonfattening?"
    Anastasia stood up and stretched. "Not up here," she said. "But let's go downstairs and get some bananas and watch cartoons."
    ***
    Later, after her friends had gone home, Anastasia thought about Septimus Smith and the letter she had mailed to him a few days earlier. She wondered if he would think her pushy, bragging about the sloop. Of course he was very
interested
in sloops, so she had needed to tell him about hers. But still, she hadn't wanted to come across as overeager or anything.
    She remembered an article she had read in
Cosmopolitan.
"Keep Him Guessing" it was called. Would Septimus Smith be guessing about her? Wondering whether she was interested in pursuing a relationship with him? The
Cosmo
article had made it quite clear that you should keep your man slightly mystified at all times, wondering whether he is really number one on your list. The article had even suggested little hints for doing that, like sending yourself fabulous bouquets of flowers with cryptic little notes saying things like "Thanks for last night" or simply "Love from You-Know Who. " Then the man in your life would see the flowers in your apartment, placed in a conspicuous place (the article had suggested on an occasional table, near the wine rack), but he wouldn't have the bad taste to
ask
about them—he would just
wonder.
It had also suggested hanging a masculine-looking toothbrush next to your own, in the bathroom.
    But Anastasia realized that none of those things would keep Septimus Smith on his toes at all. She didn't have an occasional table; she didn't even know what an occasional table was. (A table that was there one day but not the next, so it was there only
occasionally?
That seemed totally weird.)
    She didn't have a wine rack.
    She couldn't afford flowers. And anyway, if she sent herself flowers, Septimus Smith wouldn't see them. She could
mention
in a letter that someone had sent her flowers, maybe.
    Should she also mention that there was a masculine-looking toothbrush hanging next to hers in the bathroom? She didn't want to
lie.
Of course, she could go and get a masculine-looking toothbrush, hang it there, and
then
mention it in a letter. But it would look stupid, hanging there next to Sam's little yellow toothbrush with the Mickey Mouse head on the end of it. And her parents would ask whose masculine-looking toothbrush the new one was. Anyway, it would be hard to fit a paragraph about toothbrushes into a letter unless, of course, you had a reason to be talking about dental hygiene, and Anastasia couldn't think of one reason in the world to talk to anybody
ever
about dental hygiene. She even got bored when her own dentist, Dr. Dana, reminded her about flossing.
    But she did, Anastasia realized, need to keep Septimus on his toes. And now, after her friends' visit, she thought she knew of a way. She pushed the three forgotten pink silk flowers to the corner of her desk, took out a piece of stationery, and began to write.
Dear Septimus,
    I know you have not had a chance to answer my last