Something New by Lisa Papademetriou

Author:Lisa Papademetriou [Papademetriou, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

My favorite store, Frantic, is two blocks up from the Tea Room. There are always really amazing window displays in the front and usually a street musician performing by the entrance. The store is packed with fun clothes, funny stuff, and beautiful room decorations. I usually can’t afford to buy much, but it’s the kind of store that’s fun to look in, because there are a million things that make me smile.

Anyway, this week’s window display is all shoes, and they’ve been set up so that they’re walking in circles in this Dr. Seuss–style contraption. I’m not usually a shoe girl, but there’s a pair of silver flats in the window that I really wish I could have. They sound dressy, but they aren’t, and they look like they would be really comfortable. I have a pair of black flats, but they have a hole in the bottom near the toe on the right side, and the heels are worn down. I’m pretty hard on shoes. Anyway, I don’t wear flats much. Just if I have someplace to go where I want to look nice. The problem is that my black flats are supposed to be my “nice” shoes, but they don’t look nice at all. I could use some new ones. But since I don’t really go to that many nice places, I really don’t want to ask Mom for the money. It seems kind of dumb. So, instead, I just watch those pretty silver shoes pad around in a circle with the other shoes in the display, back and forth, back and forth.

I’m debating whether or not to go inside and try on a pair — just for informational purposes — when I hear a familiar voice nearby.

“Hey, that was great,” Kyle says to the guitarist sitting on the curb. “Do you know anything by Muddy Waters?”

“Do I know any Muddy?” The guitarist breaks into a grin and busts into a blues riff. Then he starts singing in a deep, gravelly voice. He’s football-shaped, with large glasses and a heavy beard, and he holds his guitar like he’s about to wrestle it to the ground. I’ve seen him playing on the street a few times, but I’ve never stopped to listen before.

Kyle is nodding and tapping his foot to the beat. He claps once or twice, like he wishes he had something to do with his hands. I imagine that if there were a piano nearby, he would hop onto the bench and join in.

I go stand beside him, and when the song is over, I say, “Hey, Kyle, it’s me — Hayley!”

“Fred!” Kyle is beaming, as if my presence has just put a cherry on top of the best day ever. “Do you know Winthrop Little?”

Winthrop tips his hat, revealing long, scraggly gray hair, and I giggle a little as I say hello. For one thing, the guy looks more like a renegade motorcyclist than a “Winthrop.” For another, he’s definitely not “little.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Winthrop says politely.

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