Twelve by Lauren Myracle

Jodhpurs.
    Knowing that Gail was an expert rider made my Lightning fantasy seem stupid, until I rebounded with an encouraging thought. It was quite possible that I had my own horsey talent, hidden until now. This could be the summer to reveal it.
    â€œWhat about Dinah?” Amanda asked.
    â€œHuh?” I said.
    â€œWhy didn’t she come tonight? To the slide show?”
    â€œOhhhh,” I said. “Um, spend-the-night camp wouldn’t work for her. She’d miss her dad too much. You know.”
    Amanda nodded understandingly. She made a sound of sympathy for Dinah’s long-gone mother.
    â€œThey’re really close,” I said.
    The truth was, I hadn’t told Dinah about Amanda’s invitation. Again, that sense of unrealness washed over me, of everything falling away if I let it.
    â€œWell,” Amanda said. “It’s probably best.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, not sure what I was agreeing with.
    On graduation night, I wore my beautiful white dress, and I felt beautiful, even with the knowledge of my nude-colored bra pressing into my shoulder blades. Mom had finally gotten around to hemming the one loose thready part, and she’d bought me a pair of white sandals with teeny blue dragonflies where the straps crossed over my toes. I wore my blue flower earrings and felt exquisite from head to toe.
    â€œYou look like a fairy,” Dinah whispered as we lined up to the right of the stage.
    â€œDon’t I?” I replied. I grinned and sashayed my hips. Then I leaned in and said, “You look good, too. I really like your necklace.”
    â€œThanks,” she said, blushing. It was so easy to make her happy. It made me happy, making her happy. Tonight was all about being happy.
    During the “Now and Then” part of the evening, I watched, rapt, as my sixth-grade life flashed in front of me. Pam had been very sneaky with her camera, catching shots of the Halloween Parade, the Spring Carnival, even student-teacher conferences—with one hilarious picture of an abashed Alex Plotkin being lectured by Mrs. Daly. Most of the pictures showed kids who were smiling, though, and it occurred to me that we looked like the kids at Camp Winding Gap. Just as filled-to-the-brim with life.
    I pressed my lips together to keep from sharing my observation with Dinah. Mom had said “we’ll see” when I begged her to let me join Amanda at camp, and “we’ll see” was a good sign. Graduation plus the possibility of camp with Amanda was an intoxicating mix. I wiggled in my seat.
    After the “school life” part of Pam’s presentation came the baby-picture finale. There was rosy-cheeked Maxine, her hair as dark and curly when she was an infant as it was now. And there was Alex Plotkin as a toddler, wearing a diaper and cowboy boots and nothing else. Everyone howled.
    Gail’s picture showed her in a pink ballerina costume; Amanda, in her photo, was propped precariously against a teddy bear. The teddy bear was bigger than she was. It was so amazing, all these lives. All these lives changing and growing and turning into . . . us.
    Dinah’s picture was sweet, showing her as a baby nestled under a Christmas tree. She drew a chorus of awwws , and I was glad for her. I reached over and squeezed her hand.
    My picture was one of the last. I had no idea which one Mom had picked, and I laughed with the others when I saw four-year-old me, looking stern in a trench coat and safety goggles from our dress-up drawer. I remembered pretending to be a spy in that particular outfit.
    â€œThat’s so you !” Louise called.
    I hid my face, but of course I loved it.
    When the ceremony was over, we were sixth graders no more. We were soon-to-be seventh graders. Soon-to-be junior-highers. We shrieked with the weirdness of it while our parents chatted in the parking lot, and we ran like crazy around the playground. One last glorious free-for-all, like those