had spent too much time in the principal’s office, explaining why she’d scaled a wall of the elementary school building (one of the short south-facing walls of the art wing, but still) or why she’d walked backward in the hallway on her way to music class or why she’d called their teacher Captain Magic instead of Mr. Milford. She hadn’t worn Hello Kitty dresses; she’d come to school dressed as a ninja. And on occasion, she had talked like a robot.
These behaviors had bewildered Alice and, eventually, embarrassed her. Madison had returned order to Alice’s universe and offered her sensible pastimes that looked to the future. Playing with Penny had never prepared her for reality. It had steeped them both in the impossible.
Now Alice turned on the faucet to get a second glass of water for her old friend and asked gruffly, “So what’s going on?”
Penny looked up from the Eiffel Tower postcard she was reading. Aunt Tess, while vacationing in Paris last August, had mailed it to Alice. Penny shrugged.
“Not much.” She slid the postcard under the piglet magnet, opened the fridge, and scanned the contents.
Alice pushed the door shut.
With a grin, Penny accepted the glass of water and did a little skip to the table. She opened the glossy brochure she’d brought.
Alice went to the counter and pulled the foil off a pan of chocolate chip bars. She cut two big squares and situated them on plates.
“Selling cookies?”
When Alice and Madison had teamed up, Penny had joined the Girl Scouts. Sometimes she wore her scout uniform to school and remained standing after the morning pledge of allegiance to hold up the three middle fingers of her right hand and recite the Girl Scout Promise. At first, the kids had laughed at this solo. After a few times, it became routine, just Penny being Penny.