Charlotte Cuts It Out by Kelly Barson

Author:Kelly Barson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-03-04T17:30:00+00:00

fourteen

15 days to the Winter Style Showcase

I wake up Thanksgiving morning to the smell of roasting turkey, cinnamon, and simmering cranberries. Mom’s been up and cooking since the butt-crack of dawn. Part of me feels kind of guilty that I’m not down there helping her, but she didn’t ask. I stretch luxuriously in bed. No school, no work—Thanksgiving is one of the few days I can sleep in and take my time with my hair and makeup.

By the time I come downstairs, Dad, Pops, Oliver, and Nina are drinking coffee and watching the parade on TV. Nina’s wearing a sweater that’s clearly stretched beyond its limit—I can’t imagine what her skin looks like. And she still has a whole month to go!

I’m about to join them when Mom appears from the kitchen, stepping over Buffy, who is sprawled out across the doorway. “Charlotte, I need your help.” Cooking! Just what I was afraid of. She takes off her apron, tosses it onto the kitchen table, and stands in front of Dad, blocking his view of the TV. “Moose,” she says, and he’s forced to look at her. “When the timer rings, pull the pie out of the top oven, please. Mother will be here soon, so I need to get ready.”

“Gotcha,” says my dad. But as soon as she steps away, he’s glued to the TV again.

I wait for my orders. Mom motions for me to follow her—upstairs, away from the kitchen. No cooking—excellent!

A print blouse and dark brown pants are hanging on the outside of Mom’s bedroom closet. Every time Grandmother visits, I serve as Mom’s fashion consultant. “Which would look better—this, or this?” She takes out a chocolate-brown-and-cream sweater dress. Then she pulls out a striped corduroy jumper . . . thing. “Or this?”

“Put that away and don’t ever get it out again. Unless it’s going to Goodwill.” I pick up the sweater dress. “This. You need leggings with it, though. What colors do you have?”

“Black, and black.”

I shake my head. You can’t mix black and brown without something to tie them together. When I return with my brown leggings, she’s in the dress, but she’s tying this hideous scarf around her neck. It has cornucopias on it! I stop her mid-tie and take it away. “If you wear that, I’m getting emancipated.”

She laughs. “Fair point. But you know she’ll say something if I don’t.”

“So what?” I counter. “Even she knows it’s ugly. Remember when she gave it to you? She said she won it at a charity auction, and that if you didn’t like it, maybe one of those girls at the store would appreciate it.”

Mom winces; we all do when Grandmother talks about the people at Pringle’s. It’s as if they’re the staff of Downton Abbey, and we’re the Crawleys.

Store legend—that is to say, Tammy, who’s been at Pringle’s since Dad was in high school—has it that Mom used to be almost as bad. She had no idea how things worked, but since she’d just gotten married to the boss’s son, she tried to take charge.

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