Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Do you seriously think I would steal your money and
then come all the way over here to deliver your pathetic
little wallet? What’s there to return other than the
money? Your horoscope? Avert a big emergency in case
you forget your moon sign?”
Bailey looked surprised.
Tibby felt bad. Maybe she’d overdone it.
Bailey didn’t back down, though. “And what important
stuff have you got in your wallet? A license to ride your
bike? A Wallman’s employee ID?” She said “Wallman’s”
with more scorn than even Tibby could muster.
Tibby blinked. “How old are you? Ten? Who taught
you to be so vicious?”
Bailey’s eyebrows descended angrily. “I’m twelve.”
Now Tibby felt worse. She’d always hated people who
assumed she was younger than she was just because she
was small and skinny and flat-chested.
“How old are you?” Bailey wanted to know. She had
an excited, combative look in her eye. “Thirteen?”
“Bailey! Time to take your medicine,” Bailey’s mom
called up the stairs. “Do you want to send your friend
down?”
Tibby looked around. Was she supposed to be the
“friend”?
“Sure,” Bailey called back. She looked amused. “Do
you mind?”
Tibby shook her head. “Of course not. Considering
how you accept favors.” Tibby trudged back downstairs
wondering what in the world she was doing there.
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