"Betty Miles - The Trouble With Thirteen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miles Betty)

"Where's the spoon?"
"You don't need a spoon, dope. You lick from the top and push up from the bottom."
"Oh." I knew it. We'd hardly even started, and already I felt stupid.
We crossed the avenue with hundreds of other people while cars honked and a taxi cut right in front of us. The bus exhaust smelled awful. I don't know
how people stand it. I concentrated on keeping up with Rachel. We got to the corner, and I looked up and recognized the museum block.
"The museum's down there." Rachel pointed.
"I know it." She's not the only person who's been to the Museum of Modern Art. I was there two different times before, with my family.
Still, it was much neater to be there with Rachel. I love the museum. It makes you feel very dramatic to walk through the big white rooms with your heels clicking on the stone floors and look at paintings. Seeing a painting in person is much better than just seeing a picture of it. It's more real. You think about the actual person who brushed the paint on.
Rachel and I walked through the rooms slowly, stopping whenever we felt like it. When we came out into the lobby again we went upstairs to see a photography exhibition. Rachel studied the photographs carefully one by one with her glasses right up near the frames. I watched her, feeling sort of jealous. It must be wonderful to know what you want to do, from the beginning, like her. She's planned to be a photographer since about first grade. I just started thinking about being a writer this year.
"Someday I bet I'll come here and see a show of yours," I said.
Rachel turned around. "Don't be stupid. I'd never be that good."
"You're good now. I think you're very good, honestly I do."
"That's different," Rachel said intensely, pushing her glasses back. "That's nothing."
She acted as though my compliment didn't count. Well, I may not be some great critic, but at least I can have my own opinion. I know what I like. I suddenly had the feeling I might cry.
Rachel touched my arm. "Thanks anyway, though." Maybe she could tell. "Let's go eat."
We got tuna salad sandwiches and iced tea in the cafeteria and carried our trays out to the sculpture garden. It's a very sophisticated place to eat lunch, but I didn't feel sophisticated. I stirred my tea and watched people looking at the statues. In back of Rachel a bald-headed man was taking pictures of a huge nude statue of a woman. He was pretty funny, but I didn't have the energy to start laughing with Rachel. Maybe sometime I could tell Debbie about it. And Sue. I'd describe how the man walked around and around, snapping the statue from all angles. They'd probably crack up.
"What's funny?" Rachel asked.
"Nothing."
"Oh." Rachel drained her iced tea. "Want to go buy some postcards?"
We went into the store and browsed through the racks. I got a card of a Chagall painting for my bulletin board. I picked out cards for Mom and Dad and
Kenny. Then I saw a card with a scene of two people dancing, from a 1930's movie. It would be perfect for Sue.
"Look!" I showed it to Rachel. "I'm going to get this for Sue. Isn't it good?"
"Yeah." She turned away quickly and started looking at books. I pretended to look through the posters but I couldn't concentrate. After a few minutes I went over and tapped her shoulder.
"Maybe we should go, so we have time for the jeans store."
"Oh. Yeah." Rachel closed the book slowly. "This is the most fabulous book I ever saw" she said passionately.
It was A History of American Photography. "Are you going to get it?" I asked.
"I can't-it costs twenty-five dollars."
Suddenly I made the decision to get that book for Rach for a going-away present. It would be perfect! I'd ask Mom to order it. I could pay her back from my allowances. It was an awful lot of money, but Rachel deserved it. She'd really be pleased.
Getting that idea made me feel better. The sun was bright when we left the museum. It was a gorgeous day. The people on the street looked interesting. Rachel and I walked along slowly, staring into shop windows. I could see how people like living in New York. I was glad I was getting to know it better.
Rachel pulled my sleeve. "Here, we'll walk up Sixth Avenue."
I looked up at the sign above her head. "This is the Avenue of the Americas," I said.
"The Avenue of the Americas is Sixth Avenue," Rachel said impatiently. "Nobody but tourists calls it that."
That was so mean! I followed Rachel to the subway and we got on a train and rode uptown in silence. We got out on Broadway and 72nd Street. It's dirtier than 53rd. There are more people who look strange. I saw an old woman in a coat and bedroom slippers poking around in a trash can. Two men were sitting on a bench sharing a wine bottle. It was depressing.
Suddenly Rachel grabbed me. "Look!"
She pulled me toward a dress store with three dresses in the window-red, blue, and yellow-all the same style with puffed sleeves, drawstring necks, and wide skirts. They were terrific dresses.
"I bet they cost about a hundred dollars," I said.
"They might not!" Rachel said. "They have pockets," she added. We hate clothes without pockets. "We could ask how much they are," she said, tentatively.
"But, Rachel-you wanted jeans!" I said, to stop her from going in there and embarrassing us. Rachel never wears a dress.
"Can't I change my mind?" Rachel demanded. "Do you think you own my opinions or something?" She seemed so angry, suddenly, for no reason.
"No I don't!" I shouted, exasperated. "I don't understand you at all! This whole day you've been dragging me around like some big New York expert, making me feel stupid. It hurts my feelings!"
"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." Rachel leaned back against the store window. "I'm sorry if I made you waste your day going around with me when you could have been having a wonderful time in Madison with Sue, or Debbie Goldstein!"
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry you have to spend your time with me when you could be with Erica!" I said right back. A little kid with a baseball hat on was staring at us. I stared at him and he slid away. "That's who you probably wish you were with!"
"As a matter of fact, Erica has her acting class today."
"Oh, so that's why you asked me!"
"It's not, Annie. What's the matter with you?"
"I don't know." There was half a filthy pretzel by my foot. I kicked it. "It just seems like you're already a New Yorker," I said more quietly. "Probably when you start going to Barclay you'll get all these new friends-"
"Annie! Don't you even want me to have friends, when you're going to be back in Madison with everyone-" She looked at me defiantly. "I keep wondering who's going to be your new best friend."
"I'm not going to have a new best friend. You're my best friend!" I said angrily.
"Well, you're my best friend!" Rachel said furiously.
For a minute we stared at each other, while what we'd said sank in. Then we started laughing.