not fair. If you want to be a librarian, you can join the Future Librarians Club and you get to go downtown and visit behind the scenes at the central library. But if you want to be a doctor, thereâs no Future Doctors Club and no way to get into an operating room.â
Mum picked Megan and Erin up at school the following Thursday and drove them to the mall. âI really canât come into the beauty shop with you,â she said. âYou know me. Will you be okay with Erin?â
âSure,â said Megan.
âItâs good premedical experience,â said Erin.
âYes,â said Mum. âI remember when you wanted that plastic woman model for your birthday when you were, what was it, six? Have you still got it?â
âThe amazing transparent woman? No,â said Erin, âshe broke after I operated on her to remove her appendix. I wish you could buy one made with some kind of soft plastic that you could cut into. . . .â
âEnough!â said Mum with a shudder. âWeâre a bit early. Do you want to have a snack before the deed is done?â
âYes, please,â said Erin. âThey have a great cinnamon bun place in this mall.â
They were licking their buttery, cinnamon-syrupy fingers when a man came up to Mum and said shyly, âJudy Schlegel?â
Mum turned her head to the side. âYe-es.â Then she grinned. âIt canât be. Randy Fuller? Mrs. Ironsidesâs fifth grade, right?â
Megan rolled her eyes at Erin. Mum had lived in the same neighborhood her whole life and was always meeting people from the olden days. It was boring. Any minute now Mr. Fuller would say, âYou havenât changed a bit.â She concentrated on unrolling her last spiral of bun.
â. . . so I just have the one boy and he lives with his mother. Do you have any other children besides Megan?â
âYes, I have . . .â There was a pause. Then Mum continued, âtwo other girls. Three wonderful daughters.â
Megan put down her remnant of bun. It was too sweet. The cinnamon smell was thick around her. What did they do, pump cinnamon perfume into the air?
âHereâs my card,â said Mr. Fuller. âWe should get together sometime. Bring the family over for a barbecue or something.â
âYes, letâs do that. Nice to see you, Randy. You look just the same as in fifth grade.â Mum stood up. âOkay, girls, weâd better go.â
They set off toward the ear-piercing store.
âAre you going to get together with that man again?â asked Megan.
âProbably not,â said Mum, âgiven how busy everyone is.â
âBut you said you would.â
âI know, but thatâs just a way of ending the conversation.â
âSo you were lying.â
âItâs not lying, itâs . . . well, itâs a convention.â
Megan pressed her mouth shut. It was lying. Funny how she had just started to notice how grownups lie all the time. Like, if Mr. Fuller looked like that in Mrs. Ironsidesâs class, he must have been a pretty strange fifth-grade kid.
Mum left them at the receptionistâs desk at La-Beaute Nails and Esthetics, and a young woman in a blue smock took them into the back room. There was a row of chairs and two other customers. One was a woman with a towel turban and a green face. Bright green, all over, except for an oval around her mouth and two eyeholes. She was leaning back and she looked asleep.
The other customer was a woman sitting on a couch with her bare feet propped on cushions. Her toenails were painted bright pink and the toes were spread apart with cotton balls. She was reading a book.
âLoretta will be with you in a minute,â the smock lady said. âYou can sit right here.â
Megan looked at Erin, who looked back with a âyikesâ look and then leaned over and whispered, âThose feet look like hands.â
Megan glanced
Emma Daniels, Ethan Somerville