by Cari Simmons
Why her mother voluntarily chose to sweat was beyond Gigi, but who was she to judge?
As she walked into the library, Gigi felt an unfamiliar shyness creep over her. She wasn’t used to walking into strange situations alone. Her stomach fluttered as she walked up to the front desk, clutching a plastic bag with her new needles and yarn.
“Excuse me,” she said to a college student checking returned books back in. “Can you please tell me where I can find Purl Jam?”
The girl pointed in the general direction of the library’s music collection. “Try over there.”
“Um, I’m looking for the knitting club?” Gigi explained. “It meets here on Thursday nights?”
“Oh, duh,” the girl said. “I totally forgot they call themselves that. Trying to bring in a younger crowd, I guess.” She put the stack of books she was working with down on the counter. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
As she trailed behind College Girl, clutching her grocery bag tightly with both hands, Gigi’s stomach flutters intensified. What exactly had she gotten herself into? Finn was probably sitting at home, just doing her homework or staring at her computer. Why hadn’t Gigi invited her along?
Because not inviting her is the whole point, she reminded herself.
The Purl Jammers’ meeting room was gray and bland. And speaking of gray, so were the knitters who formed the group. College Girl had said they were trying to entice younger members, and Gigi was younger by far. All but two members had silver hair. Of the other two, one looked to be about her mother’s age (though unlike Gigi’s mom, this woman sported several visible tattoos and two nose rings).
The last Purl Jammer wasn’t a woman at all, but a man from Gigi’s school: her tall, lanky math teacher, Mr. Baker. Just seeing him in the room made Gigi’s cheeks flame hotly. In her head, Gigi tried to calculate the odds of escaping before Mr. Baker saw her, except that his eyes widened in recognition before she could even finish putting together the equation.
“Why, hello there, Gigi!” Mr. Baker said. “Come, come—let me introduce you.” He waved her over.
Mr. Baker made a big deal out of making sure that everyone knew that Gigi was one of the top students in his class.
“Rock on,” said Malissa, the nose-ringed woman, offering Gigi a fist bump. She liked Malissa, who kind of reminded her of Miranda—like a preview of the kind of adult Miranda might be. Without the pigtails, of course.
The group’s leader, Mrs. Broderick, welcomed Gigi warmly as the others took their seats. “It’s always so nice to see young people take an interest in knitting. What are you working on, dear?”
Gigi swallowed hard. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t actually started anything yet. I have yarn, though.” She showed her and Mr. Baker the pretty teal stuff she’d gotten at the craft store.
“Oh,” Mrs. Broderick said. “That’s lovely. I have to say, I find eyelash yarn a bit tricky to work with. Have you used it before?”
Gigi shook her head no. “I’ve never actually knitted before. I was hoping that I would, you know, be able to learn. Here.”
Mrs. Broderick and Mr. Baker exchanged a look that made Gigi’s face turn even redder. A quick glance around the room told Gigi everything she needed to know: none of the Jammers was working on, say, a simple scarf. No, they were clickety-clacking their way through poufy berets, lacy shawls, and sweaters with complicated patterns.
“Let’s have a look at your needles, shall we?” Mr. Baker said in his bright, cheerful way.
Gigi slowly pulled out the pretty pink pair she’d picked out earlier.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Broderick said. “Those are . . .”
“Rather large,” Mr. Baker finished for her.
“Especially for such a delicate yarn,” Mrs. Broderick agreed.
Gigi sighed. First the batter disaster, and now this? Her judgment was proving to be anything but reliable lately.
“Pattern?” Mr. Baker asked.
Gigi blinked at him in response.
“Well, we can work with what we have,” Mr. Baker said. “Now, let’s wipe away that frown, Miss Prince. After all, there’s no crying in knitting.”
Except, there was a lot of crying in knitting—especially where Gigi was concerned. Crying on the inside, at least. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why Julia Roberts claimed this was such a relaxing hobby. Casting the yarn on to the needle wasn’t so bad. But beyond that? Everything had to be absolutely perfect. It wasn’t like a stir-fry, where you could adjust the seasonings or add a new ingredient. In knitting, if you missed one wrong stitch, you could conceivably have to rip out entire rows just to fix it.
Gigi was grateful for Mr. Baker’s patience. No matter how many errors she made, or questions she had, he never once got annoyed with her. Or if he did, he hid it very well.
“You’re an awesome teacher, Mr. B,” Gigi told him. “Thank you.”
“That’s very kind of you,” he said. Then he leaned in and stage-whispered, “Students like you make it all worthwhile.”
Because of this, Gigi forced herself to smile through the pain. She felt like she owed Mr. Baker that much.
As she wrestled with the wretched eyelash yarn—which, by the way, was shedding all over the delicate beaded top she’d unfortunately chosen to wear—Mr. Baker explained to her how knitting incorporated mathematical concepts. He showed her the project that he was working on for his wife. It was one of those infinity scarves, only Mr. Baker called it a Möbius strip. He pulled out a picture of what the finished scarf would look like. “It looks like a continuous loop,” he said, “but see that twist in the loop? That’s what makes the Möbius strip so interesting. Despite its appearance, it’s actually a one-sided surface!
“If you were to make a model out of paper, and tried to cut the strip down the center, you wouldn’t end up with two Möbius strips,” he continued. “No, you would end up with one much larger Möbius strip. You should try it! Or maybe we’ll make one in class.”
After ninety minutes, with Mr. Baker helping her every step of the way, Gigi somehow managed to get through four complete rows of something fairly narrow (a skinny scarf, maybe?). Because of the size of her needles and the slimness of the yarn, the result was something that had lots of loops and holes. In fact, it looked like several moths had used it for a buffet.
As the Jammers began to pack up their projects, Mr. Baker asked Gigi, “Will I see you back here next week?”
Gigi was nearly one hundred percent certain that she was not destined to become a true Purl Jammer, but Mr. Baker looked so eager for her to say yes that she couldn’t bring herself to let him down. She settled on “Maybe.”
“Thanks again for all your help, Mr. B. I’m really sorry I sucked up all of your time.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “It was my pleasure.”
Gigi found her mother in the checkout line, clutching half a dozen books. “How did it go?” her mom asked.
Gigi shrugged. “It went.”
“That bad?”
Gigi pulled out her holey project and held it up as evidence.
“It’s . . . unusual,” her mother said. “In fact, if you’d told me you’d crocheted it, I would say it looked rather advanced.”
“I think we can both agree that I am not a Purl Jammer,” Gigi sighed. “Knitting is way too stressful.”
At home, in her room, Gigi shoved her knitting “project” and yarn deep into the bottom drawer of her desk. Then she took the yarn back out and looked at the angry lion poised like a regal king on the label. It made her chuckle. Such a fierce expression for such a frilly, delicate product!
With a small, pointy pair of scissors, Gigi carefully cut into the label and around the oval logo. This, she decided, needed to go on the Wall.
But as soon as she had that thought, it was replaced by another: I can’t put it there all by myself.
In the nearly eight years that the massive collage had been in the making, Gigi had never actuall
y pasted anything up on her own. The Wall was an Eff and Gee production, and every single item on it represented something that the two of them had done or thought or said together.
Even so, Gigi felt her massive knitting fail deserved to be memorialized in some way. And the Wall was in her room, not Finley’s. She shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to add something to it. Should she?
She approached the wall, tape in hand. She raised the lion up and . . .
No, she thought, the criteria for new Wall items that Finn and I have followed since birth just doesn’t apply here.
She had no desire to proclaim a long life to knitting. Plus, where was she going to put the label? The Wall had been unofficially sectioned off into zones—birthdays, Halloween costumes, celebrities they were crushing on, LOL kitties . . . there wasn’t a place designated for “Things I Will Likely Never Do Again.”
Gigi lowered her hand. The logo would have to stay off the Wall . . . for now.
She tucked the cutout under her pencil cup for safekeeping, turned out the lights, and went to bed.
CHAPTER 10
As they boarded the bus after school on Friday, Gigi impulsively asked Finn if she wanted to come over. “I mean, I know we’re hanging out tomorrow after your soccer thing,” she said, “but I was thinking about trying out a new cupcake recipe. And since you can’t come to class . . .”
“Yeah,” Finn said. “I know. And dude, I’d love to, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Lauren asked me if I wanted to go to the mall. Her mom is driving us, but maybe you could meet us over there?”
Gigi didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but the fact that Finn had made plans with Lauren stung—hard. She knew she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Finn was only making plans with Lauren. And there had been plenty of times when Finn and Katie or Finn and Maggie had gone off and done something, just the two of them. Gigi didn’t feel the teensiest bit jealous of them then. So why now? What was so different about Lauren Avila?
Everything is different about Lauren Avila! that awful voice in Gigi’s head piped up. Forget for a minute that she’s in eighth grade and a star on the varsity soccer team. Lauren Avila is also effortlessly pretty. And everyone likes her!
It was true. Lauren was tall, with long, lean legs and clear skin the color of honey. Her shiny hair dipped well past her shoulders and had the kind of bounce to it that Gigi thought existed only in shampoo commercials. She glowed without the help of any makeup, and her affection for argyle sweaters—which, by the way, looked fantastic on her—had spawned a copycat trend among the girls of Sterling Middle School earlier that year.
Becoming friends with pretty, popular Lauren Avila was going to change Finley, Gigi felt certain. Hadn’t it changed her already?
Or maybe it was changing how Finn saw Gigi.
“Thanks for the invite,” Gigi said, “but I’m not really feeling the mall.”
Finn snorted. “Since when does Gigi Prince ever turn down a trip to the mall?”
“I don’t know,” Gigi said. “Maybe I don’t feel like crashing.”
“It’s not crashing if I invite you, dude. Just think about, okay? We’re not leaving until six.”
Gigi came home to an empty house and a note from her mother saying that she had had to cover for another volunteer at Dress for Success and probably wouldn’t be home until seven o’clock. So Gigi couldn’t have gotten a ride to the mall even if she did change her mind about going. Which she hadn’t.
But if she did . . .
It might not be a bad idea to hang out with Finn and Lauren together. A trip to the mall would give Gigi a prime opportunity to get to know Lauren. It was not out of the question that she might like her as much as Finn did.
And hey, it couldn’t hurt if Lauren saw how close Eff and Gee were—that Finley already had a best friend and didn’t need any applications for a new one.
She called Finn and asked her if she could catch a ride with her and Lauren.
Finn hesitated, then said, “I don’t know, Gee. It might be kind of weird.”
“Weird? Weird how?”
“Well, Mrs. Avila doesn’t know you, and you don’t even really know Lauren yet, so . . .”
“Okay,” Gigi said. “How about this? You tell Lauren to meet us at the mall, and we can get your mom to drive. Then Lauren’s mom can just take us all home.”
Gigi was pleased with herself for coming up with such a perfect solution. Finn, however, was not as impressed.
“It’s just that . . . if we do it your way, then it pretty much changes the plans I made with Lauren,” Finn said carefully. “Plus, my mom wasn’t thinking she had to drive anywhere tonight, and my dad’s working a double, so she’d have to take Logan with us too.”
Gigi let out an exasperated sigh. “What if I just walk over to your house? Or do you think that would be weird too?”
“Dude,” Finley said. “You sound like you’re mad at me or something.”
“I’m not,” Gigi replied . . . though if she were honest, she was a little annoyed by Finn’s resistance. “Look, you’re the one who said I should think about coming. If I can’t get a ride with you, I can’t come.”
“Hold on,” Finn said. She must’ve muted the phone, because Gigi didn’t hear anything for the next minute or so. When she clicked back on, she said, “Okay. Mom said you can come here. Only she said you have to call your mom first, to get permission, and then you have to make sure you’re at my place by four thirty, because she doesn’t want you walking over in the dark.”
Gigi wasn’t sure why Ms. Marian didn’t just come get her, but she didn’t say that to Finn. Instead she said, “Okay. See you in a bit.”
Next, she tried calling her mom, but her cell phone went straight to voice mail. So did the line at Dress for Success. Frustrated, Gigi headed up to her room to pick out an outfit for the evening.
It had grown progressively cooler over the week, but the mall was notoriously overheated during the fall and winter. Layers were likely Gigi’s best bet. She rummaged around in her dresser until she located a lime-green-and-navy argyle sweater vest she hadn’t worn in a while. It was a teensy bit short, but she figured she could layer it up with a longer button-down underneath and go for a retro vibe. Navy leggings and a cropped jean jacket would complete the look.
Gigi tried her mother again but kept getting voice mail. A quick look at the clock revealed that she only had about fifteen minutes before she had to leave for Finn’s. How could she get her mother’s permission if her mother refused to answer a phone?
The minutes ticked away. Gigi spritzed her curls with a little water to help them plump back up, then changed into her mall outfit. She grabbed twenty dollars from the hamburger-shaped bank in her room, tucked the bills into her wristlet, pulled on her Sperrys, and headed back downstairs.
It was four ten; in five minutes, she was going to have to leave. She made one more attempt to reach her mom, and when she got her voice mail for the twelfth time, she decided to leave a message: “Hey, it’s me, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to the mall with Finn. Love you! Bye.”
When she got to Finn’s house, Ms. Marian answered the door. “Hey, cutie,” she said. “Come on in. Just watch your step.”
Gigi’s eyes widened as she took in the front hall. Nearly every inch of the floor was covered with stuff: stacks of books, piles upon piles of clothes, mountains of sports equipment, and tons of Logan’s old toys. No wonder Ms. Marian couldn’t come get her. Their house was a mess, and it looked like Ms. Marian was working hard to tame it.
“Don’t mind all this,” Ms. Marian said. “Just getting ready for tomorrow’s wee-cycle sale.”
“Tomorrow’s what?”
“Wee-cycle sale,” Ms. Marian repeated. “It’s like a flea market for moms, with all kinds of gently used kid stuff.”
“Oh,” Gigi said. “That’s, uh, cool. Is Finn in her room?”
“Go right on up.”
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The door to Finn’s bedroom was closed, so Gigi knocked. No answer. Gigi knocked again. Still no answer. Gigi tried one more time.
“WHAT?” Finn hollered, flinging the door open. “Oh, it’s you. Sorry. Logan hasn’t stopped bothering me all afternoon. Um, what are you wearing?”
Gigi smoothed the front of her sweater vest and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Finn said. “Never mind.”
Gigi could feel her face heat up. “I’m making a fashion statement?”
“You’re making something. Hey, let’s go grab some snackage.”
The floor of the kitchen was almost as full as that of the entryway. Gigi nearly tripped into a tub of action figures but steadied herself against the fridge. “So,” she said, when she’d found her footing, “you think my outfit looks bad?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face kind of did.”
Finn shrugged. “You look fine,” she said. “You just don’t look like you. That’s all.”
Gigi’s immediate instinct was to shoot back, “Well, you aren’t acting like you, so I guess this makes us even.” But instead she held her tongue.
“Salty, sweet, or chewy?” Finn asked.
“How about all three?”
“Gorp it is!” Finn said, grinning. She pulled down a large mixing bowl, and the girls started filling it with little bits of everything: good ol’ raisins and peanuts, of course, but also M&Ms, mini marshmallows, pretzel nuggets, Goldfish crackers, and a generous shake of Cap’n Crunch. The crazy snack mix was a holdover from their days as Girl Scouts, and a tradition they maintained long after they hung up their Brownie vests.
Finn grabbed the bowl, and the girls headed into the den.
“So what’s at the mall?” Gigi asked.
“Stores,” Finn replied. “A fast-food court. Aggressive salespeople trying to convince you that their Dead Sea skin-care products will get rid of your acne.”
Gigi cocked her head to one side. “I know that, silly. What’s the reason we’re going?”
“You’ve never needed a reason before.”
“I don’t,” Gigi said. “But you hate going to the mall without a specific mission in mind.”