Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning by Danette Haworth

like it,” I say. “It’s sparkly.”
    â€œIsn’t it pretty? Do you really like it?” She’s about to say something else, but the choir bursts into song and we jump to our feet.
    When the singing is over, Lottie gets real fidgety, looking around and glancing at her watch. The pastor is talking about how when Jesus chose his disciples, he gave some of them new names, like Peter, whose name used to be Simon. He gave them new names because they were now new people. I’ve heard this part before, so for the third time, I crane my neck to see what Lottie’s craning her neck for.
    I pass Lottie a note. What’s so interesting back there?
    Just want to see if Melissa’s here, she writes back. I huff and slip the paper into my Bible. Is that all? Just looking for old gooseneck Melissa?
    I sit forward and try to concentrate on the sermon. Then all the people to my right start shifting or standing and I look down to see Melissa coming down the row. Could she sit at the end of the pew? Could she sit in the back of the church? No, she’s got to work her way to us because, God Almighty, she is a princess. Her parents sit in the row behind us. Lord, these people have a habit of disturbing the spirit.
    Then I see Melissa’s shirt, sequined and sparkly—the same one as Lottie’s. My back curls into a tight whip as I lean and stare at her.
    â€œExcuse me,” she whispers as she tries to pass me. I roll my eyes, then shift my legs, but only a little.
    Melissa shakes her head and waits. I don’t look at her; I don’t move. Don’t even think you’re sitting between me and Lottie. But then Lottie’s family moves down, and Melissa squeezes past me and sits between Lottie and Tootsie. Tootsie beams.
    I hope it ain’t a sin to be mad in church.
    I try to stare straight ahead, but the corner of my eye is picking up all the sparkliness that’s happening to my left. Even the diamond chip in Lottie’s watch twinkles with light.
    I pull the notepaper from my Bible and scribble furiously. Why is she wearing your shirt?
    Her mom bought them at the mall. Mine was free.
    I think she added the last part to make me feel better, like she got the shirt by accident. I pout my lips and slam back against the pew.
    Now Melissa hands her a note. Without turning my head, I slide my eyes over the words. Her cursive letters swirl over the paper: You look great! Well sure, of course she would think so; they both got on the same shirt. Then I’m hit like a bolt of lightning—she wants to be twins with Lottie.
    My body tightens. I clench my teeth. Lottie smiles at her and writes something back. I can’t see it.
    I scribble my own note and push it into her right hand. What’s she writing about?
    Nothing, she writes back. Just stuff about her shirt.
    On her left comes Melissa’s note. I lean over to get a better view: You have a really good shape! Did you talk to your mom about —
    â€œViolet!” Lottie snaps and turns the note over. She looks mad.
    Something’s going on. Why won’t she let me see? I pretend to sit back in the pew, but I use my slow-moving statue skills to spy.
    Lottie writes something quick. All I’ve managed to see is: and what if she says no?
    â€œWho says ‘no’?” I whisper in her ear.
    â€œViolet!” Lottie says, then clamps her hand over her mouth. Her mom leans forward and frowns at her. Lottie slips the note to Melissa, shifts over to me, and goes, “It’s nothing, okay?”
    I lean my head toward her. “It’s something, or you wouldn’t be hiding it.”
    We sit there, all three of us, facing forward for a minute. Then Melissa slips another note into Lottie’s hand. Despite my best efforts, I can’t see the words.
    I touch Lottie’s arm. “Is it about me?” I whisper.
    â€œNo! Violet, please.” Her eyes plead with me. Is this the privacy she was