"Blume, Judy - Just As Long As We're Together" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blume Judy)

"One in seventeen million?"
"Yes. That's what the vet told us. It's extremely rare. Maizie is probably the only talking dog in all of Connecticut."
"Well," I said. "I can't wait for Rachel to meet Maizie."
"Who's Rachel?" Alison asked.
"She's my best friend."
"Oh, you have a best friend."
"She lives here, too. Number 16. She's really smart. She's never had less than an A in school." I stood up. "I have to go home now. But I'll see you tomorrow. The junior high bus stops in front of the lodge. That's the building down by the road. It's supposed to come at ten to eight."
"I know," Alison said. "I got a notice in the mail." She stood up too. "Do you wear jeans or skirts to school here?"
"Either," I said.
"What about shoes?"
I looked at Alison's bare feet. "Yes," I said, "you have to wear them."
"I mean what kind of shoes. . . running shoes or sandals or what?"
"Most of the kids here wear topsiders."
"Topsiders are so preppy," Alison said.
"You don't have to wear them," I told her. "You can wear whatever you want."
"Good," Alison said. "I will."
Rachel's Room.
"Dogs can't talk," Rachel said that night, when I told her about Alison and Maizie.
I was sitting on Rachel's bed. Her cats, Burt and Harry, were nestled against my legs, purring. They're named after some beer commercial from Rachel's parents' youth.
Rachel was going through her closet, pulling out clothes that don't fit anymore. In her closet everything faces the same way and hangs on white plastic hangers.
In my closet nothing is in order. Last year Rachel tried to organize it for me. But a week later it was all a mess again and she was disappointed.
"Are you giving away your Yale sweatshirt?" I
asked.
"No, that still fits."
"What about your red plaid shirt?"
"Yes . . . do you want it?"
"I'll try it on and see," I said.
Rachel took it off a hanger and handed it to me. "I've got to do some back-to-school shopping."
I did mine last week. I got a skirt, a couple of shirts, a sweater and a pair of designer jeans. Rachel's mother says designer jeans are an incredible rip-off and she won't let Rachel or her sixteen-year-old sister, Jessica, buy them. Rachel also has a brother, Charles. He's fifteen. He doesn't get along with the rest of the family so he goes away to school. I doubt that he cares about designer jeans.
My mother says she admires Mrs. Robinson. "Nell Robinson sticks to her guns," is how Mom puts it. "I wish I had such strong convictions." But she doesn't. That's how come I got a pair of Guess jeans. It's not that I care about labels. It's just that I like the way they fit.
I pulled my T-shirt over my head.
"Steph!" Rachel cried, lowering the window shades. "I wish you'd remember you're going into junior high. You can't run around like a baby anymore. Where's your bra?"
"At home. It was too hot to wear it."
I tried on Rachel's red plaid shirt. It's made of flannel that's been washed so many times it's almost as thin as regular cotton. It felt soft against my skin. I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. Then I jumped off the bed, waking Burt, who yawned and stretched. I looked at myself in Rachel's mirror. "I like it," I said.
"It's yours," Rachel told me.
"Thanks." I took the shirt off. Even though the shades were down the breeze from the window felt cool against my skin.
"Put your T-shirt on, Steph," Rachel said, tossing it to me, then turning away.
I slipped it on and flopped back onto Rachel's bed. Burt was chasing a rubber band around on the floor. Harry was still curled in a ball, fast asleep.
Rachel went to her desk. She held up her notebook~ It was covered in wallpaper. I recognized the pattern-tiny dots and flowers in pink and green-from their bathroom. It looked great. "Do you have any extra?"
"I think we have some blue stripes left from the dining room. Want me to take a look?"
"Sure."
I followed Rachel into the hail. She opened the stepladder in the closet and climbed to the top. "Here it is," she said, handing me the roll.
Then we went downstairs. Mrs. Robinson was at the dining room table with stacks of papers and books spread out in front of her. She's a trial lawyer. "Stephanie . . ." she said, glancing up for a minute, "good to see you!"
"Mom's~ got a big case starting tomorrow," Rachel explained.
Mrs. Robinson is always either starting a big case or in the middle of one.
Mr. Robinson was at the kitchen table, also surrounded by books and papers. He teaches history at the high school. As we walked through the kitchen he popped two Pepto Bismol tablets into his mouth. "I always get nervous before school starts," he said, chewing them. "You'd think by now I'd be used to it, but I'm not."
"I never knew teachers get nervous about starting school," I said.
Mr. Robinson nodded. "It starts in my stomach in August and doesn't let up until the end of September." The Pepto Bismol made his teeth look pink.
"I'm going over to Steph's," Rachel said. "I'll be back in less than an hour."
"Okay," Mr. Robinson said.