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

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted," Rachel said. "Want to go in and see how much those dresses cost?"
"Yeah." I opened the door for her and waved her in.
The saleswoman was standing right inside. I wondered if she'd heard us fighting, but she didn't say anything. Rachel asked her how much the dresses were, and the woman said they were eighteen dollars.
"That's just a couple more dollars than jeans!" I said to Rachel.
She nodded. I could see she wanted to get one, but she was sort of waiting for me.
"Do you have the blue in size eight?" I asked the woman.
"And the yellow?" Rachel said.
I held my breath while the woman hunted through a rack of dresses and pulled out the right ones. She took us to a dressing room. We took our jeans and shirts off and helped each other put on the dresses. They were quite long. I loved the way mine hung around my legs.
"You look terrific!" Rachel said.
"So do you!"
We giggled at each other in the mirror.
"Want to get them?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah," I said. I was sure Mom wouldn't mind.
She'd probably be glad I got something besides jeans.
"Want to wear them?" Rachel said.
"Sure!"
So we paid for the dresses, and the woman folded our old clothes into shopping bags. "Enjoy!" she said.
I felt a little shy walking out of the shop. I'm not that used to wearing a dress. I turned and began to walk self-consciously down the sidewalk.
"This way!" Rachel pulled me gently in the right direction.
I put my arm across her shoulders and we walked along in step. Probably anyone who saw us then thought we were both New York City girls.
"Look at you!" Rachel's Aunt Sylvia said at the door. "You look terrific! Where'd you get those dresses? I wouldn't mind having a dress like that."
"At this store on Broadway," I answered casually.
"Well, you both look marvelous. I bet you're exhausted, though. I made you some lemonade."
We went in and sank down on her couch and kicked our shoes off. It felt wonderful to sit down. Aunt Sylvia's apartment is neat. It's just the one room, plus a little kitchen and a bathroom. There isn't much furniture except for bookshelves. There are piles of books everywhere, including on the floor.
She gave us lemonade and sat down across from us, studying us over the rim of her glass. "You've changed, Annie! How long's it been since I've seen you-three or four months? You look so good. You both
do." She paused. "It just takes a bit of getting used to, to think of you as adolescents."
It didn't bother me when Aunt Sylvia said that. For one thing, she's so matter-of-fact you don't get embarrassed. For another, what she was noticing was true.
Aunt Sylvia's a lot younger than Mrs. Weiss-she's twenty-eight or something. But she looks like Mrs. Weiss. She could be a model if she wanted to, but she wouldn't. She's studying for her Ph.D. in history at Columbia University.
"How are your mom and dad?" she asked Rachel. "How're they doing?"
"O.K., I guess," Rachel said. "It's sort of hard to tell."
"It's so tough for them right now," Aunt Sylvia said, "and for you. So many changes all at once. I wish I could do something, but what can I do, except wish you'll all be happy."
I never thought before about all the people who could feel sad when two people get divorced. Not only their children, but their friends and their family. I wondered if Rachel's mother and father had told their own parents yet, and whether their parents would scold them about it. It was good that Rachel had a relative as understanding as Aunt Sylvia.
"It's so good that you two have each other," she said just then, as though she and I had ESP..
Rachel took her camera out and started fooling with
it. "It's different, though, when your best friend lives in another place."
"Sure it is," Aunt Sylvia said. "But after all, you won't be at opposite ends of the earth. There are cars and buses-and phones." She turned to me. "Know where my best friend lives? Bloomington, Indiana. Indiana! I wouldn't want to show you my phone bills with the long-distance calls to Bloomington on them! Kathy and I have a pact-twice a month we splurge on a call and talk as long as we feel like it. I haven't seen her for six months, but I'm much closer to her than to people I see every day."
"I bet Mom will let me call Annie a lot," Rachel said.
"Of course she will," said Aunt Sylvia. "Your mom wants to do everything she can to make this easier for you."
"Besides," I said, "111 visit a lot." I really would like to. It would be neat to learn my way around New York. Rachel and I could explore together. We could go to more museums and to plays and concerts. "Maybe we could even sell an article, like to New York Magazine, about things for kids to do in the city," I said.
"Neat." Rachel put her camera up to her face, focused on my dirty feet, and snapped.
"Rach! They're filthy!"
Aunt Sylvia stood up. "You kids better get your showers. Bruce and Erica will be here at five."
I'd almost forgotten! I wished we didn't have to see
them. I would much rather have stayed with Aunt Sylvia. "You go first," I told Rachel. I leaned back against the couch and watched Aunt Sylvia move some books from one side of the floor to the other.
"It's lucky I live alone," she said ruefully. "There wouldn't be room for another human being with all these books."
"Do you think you'll ever get married?" I asked her suddenly. Then I was embarrassed that I had. But she didn't act offended.
"I've thought about it," she said. "I don't know. Back when Denny married Clay, nobody even considered whether to or not. It was just what you did. Nowadays it's tougher because you know about the choices. You know getting married's not the only way to be happy. I like living alone." She wedged a book onto the shelf. "Still. I think it would be fabulous to find someone that you'd like to marry and grow older with, and share it all."
It seemed strange that someone as old as Aunt Sylvia would talk about growing up. In a way I'm not sure I like the idea that you always keep on doing it. It seems sort of tiring. And then, people don't automatically do it right.
"Sometimes getting married doesn't work out right," I said, thinking of the Weisses. "It's too bad you can't predict it before you waste time falling in love and having kids and all that-"
"It's not a waste," Aunt Sylvia interrupted. "It's not,