Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

filthy hair. As it was, she only gave it a glancing thought.
When the tears finally subsided, she looked up.
“Why don’t we get a cup of joe and you tell me what’s
up,” he offered.
She looked at him carefully, not through her eyes but
through Bailey’s eyes. His hair was overgelled, and his
eyebrows were plucked in the middle. His clothes and his
reputation seemed fake. She couldn’t for the life of her
remember why she had liked him.
“No thanks,” she answered.
“Come on, Tibby. I’m serious.” He thought she was
turning him down out of insecurity. As though someone so
much cooler than her couldn’t possibly take an interest.
“I just don’t want to,” she clarified.
His face registered the insult.
I used to have a huge crush on you, she thought as she
watched him walk away. But now I can’t remember why.
Not long after he left, Angela, the lady with the long
fingernails, came out carrying two clear bags of garbage
to the Dumpster. When she saw Tibby she stopped.
“Your little friend is real sick, isn’t she?” Angela asked.
Tibby looked up in surprise. “How did you know
that?” she asked.
“I had a little niece die of cancer,” Angela explained. “I
remember how it looks.”
Angela’s eyes were teary too. She sat down next to
Tibby. “Poor thing,” she said, patting Tibby’s back. Tibby
felt the scratchy tips of her fingernails on the polyester.
“She’s a sweet, sweet kid, your friend,” Angela went
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