Rose hated going to Amanda’s house.
Amanda always made her feel like a baby, especially when other girls from Magnolia Estates were there. They always talked about things that Rose didn’t care about, like soccer and lip gloss.
Rose was also worried about getting her white sandals dirty.
But here she was, running to Amanda’s house with Mavis.
When they got to the Simms’ house, Mavis leaped right up onto the porch and rang the doorbell while Rose waited on the sidewalk. When Mrs. Simm opened the door, icy cold air floated through the screen door and mingled with the hot summer air on the porch.
“Is Amanda here?” Mavis asked.
Mrs. Simm’s face had disapproval written all over it.
Mrs. Simm disapproved of Mavis because Mrs. Simm disapproved of Miss Jeeter.
And Mrs. Simm disapproved of Miss Jeeter because of the things Rose’s mother had been telling her.
Just the other day, when Rose and Amanda had sat in silence at the Simms’ kitchen table eating banana pudding, their mothers had been in the living room, eating crab salad and talking about Miss Jeeter. They had talked low, but Rose had heard them.
Mostly it was Rose’s mother talking.
“And she had no idea what aspic is…”
“She put the sheets on the bed without even ironing them…”
“And I swear I saw her flirting with Monroe Tucker, strutting up the driveway and flipping her hair. Can you imagine? Monroe Tucker. The gardener!”
Mrs. Simm didn’t say much. She only said things like “Good heavens” and “Seriously?” and “Good heavens” again.
Now, with Mavis standing on her front porch, Mrs. Simm’s eyes traveled from her dirty bare feet to her wild hair, and she raised one eyebrow in a perfect arch. “Yes, she is. Would you like me to give her a message?”
“We need to talk to her,” Mavis said.
Mrs. Simm let out a sigh. “Just a minute,” she said, closing the door.
Mavis looked back at Rose and said, “Oh brother.”
Rose licked a finger and wiped dirt off one of her white sandals. She wished she could go barefoot like Mavis. But Mrs. Simm would see and tell her mother, and her mother would remind her about ringworm. Mavis probably wouldn’t care if she got ringworm, but Rose sure would.
After what felt like a long time, Amanda opened the front door. “What do you want?” she said, narrowing her eyes at Mavis.
“Is that dog still coming to your fence to get food?” Mavis asked.
“His name is Henry,” Amanda said.
“Then is Henry still coming to your fence to get food?”
Rose recognized that tone of voice coming from Mavis. Any minute now, she was liable to call Amanda a ding-dong. Then Amanda would get mad and tell her mother, who would tell Rose’s mother that she had come to their house wearing dirty sandals, and Mavis had been barefoot and called Amanda names.
Amanda stepped out on the porch and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a sparkly red headband, and her cantaloupe-colored hair hung perfectly straight down her back. She had once bragged to Rose that she hadn’t cut her hair since third grade.
“Don’t talk so loud,” Amanda said to Mavis.
“Why not?”
“Because my mother told me not to feed Henry anymore or else he’ll keep hanging around, and my parents don’t want dogs hanging around.”
“Why not?”
“Because stray dogs have ticks and fleas and mange and maybe even rabies.” Amanda straightened her headband and added, “But yes, Henry ate the cheese I put out there yesterday.”
“Are you sure it was Henry and not a raccoon or something?”
“I saw him from the porch,” Amanda said. “It was definitely a dog, and I’m pretty sure it was him.”
“Great,” Mavis said. “Thanks.”
Then she hopped down the steps and said, “Come on, Rose.”
And just like that, Mavis ran toward the woods behind Amanda’s house, leaving Rose standing on the sidewalk.
“She is so rude,” Amanda said, and disappeared inside her house.
For a very brief minute, Rose considered going back home.
But she didn’t.
She ran off after Mavis, trying her best not to get her sandals dirty.