Emily drew butt cheeks on my pants, while I was wearing them. It was a brilliant idea. When I got home, I slid my backside against the wall all the way into my room, in case Mom saw. I didn’t know what she would do if she saw, but I didn’t want to know.

“I don’t like Lisa Frank anymore.” Emily told me the next day. She always knew what to like and not to like. She went to the public school.

“Why not?” I frowned.

“Because this younger girl came up to me and said she was going to adopt one of the animals. She actually thinks they’re real. So I can’t like them anymore. It’s too sad.”

That was sad. But that wasn’t Lisa Frank’s fault. Lisa Frank was mine–and no sad dumb little girl could ever take that away from me. And then Mandy said she too liked Point of Grace while we were eating at McDonald’s. Not my Point of Grace.

“You don’t love BRIDGEACROSSTHEGREATDIVIDE Point of Grace!” I shouted and ran to the Playplace.



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