Sticky Fingers by Niki Burnham & Rodrigo Corral

Author:Niki Burnham & Rodrigo Corral [Burnham, Niki & Corral, Rodrigo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780689876493
Google: L9J8dqgV2G4C
Amazon: 0689876491
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2005-08-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

“Jenna, this is incredible! You know how fabulous this belt is gonna look with my new jeans? Or with that pair of black pants Anne gave me for Christmas?”

Courtney’s standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room. She’s wearing an old pair of Levi’s and a figure-hugging, low-cut blue sweater I remember her getting at Daffy’s in New York City a couple years ago when her mom took us there shopping for the weekend. She looks mind-blowingly good, despite not even having on any makeup.

“I think it looks pretty fabulous just like that,” I say. “I’m glad you like it.” It feels awkward that we’re being so giggly and girly given the Bennigan’s thing, but I’m doing my best to roll with the moment, to not worry about what’s going on with her, but to focus on the life I can control: mine.

“It’s going to go with everything,” Courtney agrees, doing a final spin and finishing it with a little butt wiggle. Not that she has much of a butt to wiggle these days. The belt I bought her is on its tightest hole.

“Should I have gotten a smaller one?” I ask. “I still have the receipt. I can exchange it if you—”

“No way! It’s great!” She plunks down onto my bed. “I know I’m looking skinny, but just wait. With all the Christmas cookies still floating around my house and with the treadmill at Dad’s place now, I’m gonna start busting out of everything. Even Anne’s griping that she feels like a slug, and you know how she is.”

“Yeah.” Totally mellow about food-exercise-clothes. Those things just aren’t on her radar.

“So.” Courtney’s eyes open wider, and she nods toward the foot of my bed. “Are you gonna open that or what?”

“I still can’t believe you got me a gift,” I say, since I know she shops at the last possible minute (and sometimes even later—like, the day after Christmas or someone’s birthday) and probably hadn’t bought anything for me when things went all insane between us.

“Of course I got you a gift.”

She sounds totally offended, which makes me uncomfortable, so I cover by saying, “Well, it’s just that you bought me that gorgeous necklace right before break. I didn’t expect you to get me a Christmas gift on top of it.”

“That was a Harvard gift,” she says, relaxing back against my headboard. She looks less wary, which I assume means we’re cool. “A once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, you know? It doesn’t count for Christmas. So sit. Open.”

I sit down on the end of the bed and pick up the red and green gift bag. There’s a picture of a Norman Rockwell Santa on the outside and tons of white tissue paper inside. “Should I guess first?”

“Of course! Isn’t that the rule?”

We did that with all our gifts when we were in junior high. It was always something like bubble gum-flavored lip gloss or whatever Japanese-comic-of-the-moment we both wanted, so our guesses were pretty accurate. And it feels like old times to guess now, even when we’re way past gifts like mini-purses with kitties on them.

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