Like Mandarin by Kirsten Hubbard

Author:Kirsten Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780375897504
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-03-08T05:00:00+00:00

I pulled the hood of my sweater over my head and yanked on the strings, leaving myself a little circle to peer through. Then I gathered my tote bag in front of my chest like a padded shield. With my head down, I passed the back door to the grocery store and went around to the front. The ghosts of old-timey letters still decorated the gray brick building: Drugs, Soda Fountain, Washokey Merchant.

As I stepped inside, out came Becky Pepper, third-place winner in the All-American Essay Contest. I wondered whether she’d take my place at the leadership conference if I backed out.

I made my way to the dairy section and grabbed a gallon of milk. On my way back, I kept my eyes on the plank floor. If I glanced up, I’d see the trophies. Coyote heads preserved in full snarl, beady-eyed pronghorns, hawks with open beaks. The animals had decorated the grocery store my entire life. But now they made me think of Mandarin.

I’d almost reached the registers when I heard a high-pitched voice: “If it ain’t Grace Carpenter!”

I tried not to cringe.

Polly Bunker had the shiny-pink skin of a pig, though the wiry, pale curls sticking to her skull reminded me of a shorn sheep. Her grin was that of a shark. She wore a frumpy floral dress with a black slip peeking from under the hem.

“Mrs. Bunker,” I said. “You startled me.”

“I startled you!” She inspected me with a frown. “Then you must be skittish, girl, ’cause I never startled anybody in my whole entire life.”

I found that hard to believe. Back when Alexis and I had been friends, Polly Bunker was always materializing in the basement rec room with platters of Jell-O Jigglers and stainless steel bowls of Cheetos. She also used to come to our house unannounced, her chipmunk cheeks practically bursting with gossip.

She hadn’t come over in quite a while, though. I suspected that if Washokey weren’t such a small town, Momma might have defriended her years ago. At least now, after Taffeta’s pageant win, Polly Bunker couldn’t retroactively gloat about Alexis’s in quite the same way.

She latched on to my free arm and dragged me into the produce section. In May, grapefruits were the big sellers. Absentmindedly, I played with one while she tested the firmness of the green grapes. Pinch, pinch. I found it mildly depressing that the height of color in Washokey came from the seasonal produce shipped from other states.

“Alexis told me about your essay winning after all,” she said. “I’m so proud of you! I always knew you were a good influence on my Alexis. You’ve got some rock-solid wits in that skull.”

She squeezed a grape so hard it popped.

“So I been thinking to myself, I ain’t seen my second-favorite girl in the world around the house lately. I miss you, Grace-face! Especially with your birthday coming up and all.” Her gaze became one of exaggerated concern. “Tell me, dear … have you and Alexis been at odds?”

“We’re okay.”

“Well, that’s not what I heard.

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