The Me I Meant to Be by Sophie Jordan

Author:Sophie Jordan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

GIRL CODE #14:

Friends say what needs to be said, even when it can be hard.

Flor

WE sat in a back booth at Farah’s family’s restaurant, our books spread out in front of us. I loved study groups here, and not only because Farah’s mom and aunts supplied us with endless amounts of pita, hummus, tabouli, and grape leaves.

Cedars Mediterranean Grill was peaceful with mellow lighting and music that reminded me of something that played softly while you were getting a massage. Not that I’d had a spa day since Mom left. Mom used to take me with her. I missed that.

“What did you get for number seven?” Farah asked, scooping hummus onto a triangle of pita and then topping it with a heap of tabouli. She took a messy bite, somehow managing not to spill it on her notebook.

Jenna flipped a few pages in her notebook, scratching her head with the back of her pen. “Um. ‘When words are used in quick succession and begin with letters in the same sound group, creating a repetition of similar sounds in the sentence.’”

Nodding, Farah scribbled down the definition for alliteration. “Thanks.”

Just then her mom came over with a plate that smelled heavenly. “Here, girls.”

“Mom, we have plenty,” Farah protested.

“Nuh-uh.” I reached for the plate. “Leave that right here.”

Farah’s mother beamed as she handed it over to me. “There you go.” She patted my shoulder. “Flor is a good eater.”

“My favorite thing,” I exclaimed as I plucked a tiny spinach pie off the plate, unashamed that I loved food. No salads for me. I bit into the triangle-shaped pastry and groaned. It was still warm.

Willa reached for one too. “I don’t even like spinach, but these are amazing, Mrs. Barry.”

“The key is to make a good dough. I still can’t make them as good as my grandmother, but I try.” She shrugged helplessly.

“I can’t imagine them better,” Willa said.

“She tries every week,” Farah said.

“You make them every week?” I moaned as I reached for another one. “That’s it. I’m moving in with you and becoming your sister, Farah.” I looked at her mom. “What do you say, Mrs. Barry? Need another daughter?”

Farah snorted. “I already have two sisters. Thanks, but I don’t want another one.”

“Farah,” her mother chided. “You love your sisters. They’re your family. No matter what. The bonds of family can’t be broken.”

I nibbled on the corner of my spinach pie, watching their interaction and feeling a little hollow inside. I could only think of my mother and how different she was from Farah’s mother.

Farah’s mother would never have left her. She and her husband might have divorced, but they were there for their children. They were unified in that sense. None of their children had been cast aside after they split up.

Farah grudgingly nodded as her mother pressed a kiss to the top of her head and wandered off, stopping where Farah’s cousin, the hostess, neglected her duties in favor of draping herself across the old-fashioned wood bar and flirting boldly with the bartender.

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