The Blossoming Universe of Violet Diamond by Brenda Woods Page B

there are all people of all colors, maybe New York, not some humdrum small town. Maybe I’ll be bohemian. Yep, definitely bohemian.
    By three thirty Mom was wide-awake and pulling on her tennis shoes. “Let’s go for a walk. We have plenty of time.”
    First, we stopped in Neptune Music Company, where Mom bought an original Jimi Hendrix vinyl album. Then we searched the racks at a vintage dress store, where Mom bought a navy blue silk suit from the 1950s. She’s seriously into vintage clothes, and I have to admit it looked pretty good on her.
    â€œCan we move to Seattle?” I asked. “I like it here. It’s so much fun and there are lots of different kinds of people.”
    â€œMaybe we should,” she replied.
    â€œHuh? Are you serious?”
    â€œYes. Moon Lake is so . . . isolated from the real world. If I can find a good job. Once Daisy graduates. It wouldn’t be fair to her right now.”
    â€œYeah,” I agreed. “But are you really serious?”
    She gently squeezed my hand. “Yes, Violet, I am.”
    At that point, I stopped looking around Seattle with visitor’s eyes, trying to see everything in a flash, soaking up all the sights and sounds, storing them in my memory. My eyes now saw the city like a person who might live there one day, a person with plenty of time.
    We were browsing inside another store at toys and cards and posters and stuff when Mom’s cell phone sounded off the alarm tone. She grabbed my hand and together we speed-walked back to the hotel. Like a candle, time had melted away, the way it always seems to when you’re having fun.
    Mom took a shower first.
    â€œYour turn, V . . . and make it a quickie.” I put on the shower cap because my curls were looking extremely perfect and I didn’t want them to frizz up the way they do when there’s steam or fog around.
    By the time I came out of the bathroom, Mom was dressed in the suit she’d just bought and she was wearing makeup, even lip gloss. “Wow! You look pretty,” I told her.
    â€œThank you,” she replied as she sniffed her clothes. “It kind of has that old-clothes smell. Maybe I shouldn’t wear it before I send it to the cleaners.”
    I got close to her and took a long whiff. “I don’t smell anything.”
    Mom squinted at me. “You swear?”
    Just to be sure, I took another sniff. “I swear.”
    â€œOkay, hurry and get dressed.”
    We drove up to the museum at exactly 6:05. My insides felt squirmy like worms wiggling and my hands were sweaty. I got out of the car, straightened out my clothes, and fluffed up my hair. “How do I look?”
    Mom smiled, even with her eyes, and answered, “Beautiful, V. You look beautiful.”
    Beautiful? I don’t think anyone had ever called me beautiful before.
    â€œMy little girl is growing up,” Mom added.
    â€œDo you think I’ll ever be
breathtaking,
like Daisy?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Suddenly, I felt amazing and spectacular, sparkly like a diamond.

16
MEET ROXANNE DIAMOND
    F or a moment we stood at the entrance to the museum, where mom reminded me about what we were going to do if Roxanne Diamond ignored us.
    â€œI remember,” I told her. “If she won’t talk to us, we’re going to leave.”
    â€œAnd no argument, promise?”
    â€œPromise . . . can we please go inside now?”
    Mom held my hand and took a really deep breath, then we entered through the double doors.
    Inside the huge room that had a polished concrete floor, the paintings of Roxanne Diamond covered the walls, and there were white people, black people, and all sorts of other people holding wineglasses, talking, and eating hors d’oeuvres, and I, Violet Diamond, for the first time in my life, felt kind of grown up.
    My eyes searched the room until I finally saw the back of someone who had gray dreadlocks and was