Switched at Birthday by Natalie Standiford

Author:Natalie Standiford [Standiford, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2014-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

To celebrate the audition, Lavender’s mother took me shopping on 36th Street. She couldn’t believe it when I agreed to go. She was thrilled. But I loved shopping, and Lavender definitely needed some new clothes. The hard part was keeping her mother from suspecting that Lavender was no longer Lavender. She kept looking at me like I had two heads.

We went to all the cute little boutiques. Finding clothes for Lavender’s short, stocky body was not easy. The salesgirls would say, “Oh, that looks great on you” about stuff that didn’t look great, in this condescending voice. Like they’d all laugh about it later over smoothies.

I ignored them, picking out a new pair of jeans and a cute top to go with it. At Maroc I went straight for the best pair of boots, but when I looked at the price tag I wondered if Lavender’s parents could afford them. My mom would have bought them without a thought, but I knew Lavender’s family didn’t have as much money as we did, so I put them back. There was a thrift store down the street, where I found a pretty blue sweater and a great pair of platform sandals in Lavender’s size that cost a lot less.

“What about contact lenses?” I asked Lavender’s mother. I was tired of wearing Lavender’s clunky glasses and thought she’d look better without them. “Are they too expensive?”

“If you need contacts, we’ll find a way to pay for them.” Lavender’s mother could hardly contain her excitement. “What’s gotten into you, Lavender? I’m almost afraid to ask. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Maybe it’s better you don’t ask, then,” I said. That answer seemed to satisfy her. It sounded like something Lavender would say.

It was fun shopping with Lavender’s mom. She was so proud of me, so eager to make me happy. We tried on funny hats and glasses; we laughed and joked. When I went shopping with my own mother, she didn’t like most of the clothes I picked out and criticized the way I looked in everything. Shopping with her wasn’t fun. It was a job. I felt sad thinking about it.

When we got home, Mrs. Schmitz preceded me into the kitchen and said, “Ta-da!”

Mr. Schmitz gawked at me. “Who’s this? Miss America?”

“Stop it,” I said. “They’re just clothes.”

Rosemary said, “Are you going to start acting all teenagery now that you’re thirteen?”

“Yes, I am, little punk,” I said. “So get used to it. You can learn from watching me so you don’t turn out all dorky like your sister.”

Rosemary looked at me funny, blinking her big blue eyes behind her glasses, and I realized what I’d just said.

“I mean, like I used to be,” I said. “Until I turned thirteen.”

“Don’t change too much, Lavender,” Rosemary said. “I like the old, dorky you too.”

“Dorkiness is our heritage,” Mr. Schmitz said. “Passed on from father to son and mother to daughter for generations of Schmitzes.”

“What are you trying to do, curse me for life?” Sometimes I couldn’t believe this family.

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