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of commerce. Dad says they’re like his flock. Please, if he had real sheep, can you imagine the fabulous sweater collection I would have? Anyway, I gotta bolt. If I’m not home by nine thirty, he’ll totally murder me and not even care that the crime would keep tourists away. Smooches!”
    Becca takes off, with Vi right behind her. I gather up the trash—including Vi’s empty pita-chip bag—and lock up the Purple People Eater before Sadie and I walk back to the office.
    â€œSo we’re really doing this,” she says.
    â€œYup. This party is going to be amazing. Just wait till your mom sees you in action. She’ll wish she never fired you. Hold up, I want to give you something.” In the yellow-colored light streaming down from the lamppost next to us, I dig through my backpack until I find what I’m looking for.
    I hold the beautiful pink-and-maroon shell out to Sadie. “Here, I found this today. Scallop shells are symbolic of pilgrimages. And maybe you’re on a newjourney. I mean, I know that’s not the same thing as a pilgrimage, since a pilgrimage is religious and all, but . . .”
    Sadie’s trying really hard not to laugh, I can tell.
    â€œAnyway, it’s really pretty, isn’t it?”
    Sadie takes the shell and admires it in the light. “Thanks, Lo.” And her grin is brighter than the moon overhead. It might even be brighter than all those fireworks she set off earlier.
    And that makes me happier than any A on a test ever could.

Becca
    Daily Love Horoscope for Scorpio:
    Venus is rising. It’s the perfect day to go flirt with a cute stranger.
    A s soon as I’m old enough, I’m totes packing up and moving somewhere like Savannah, because this Southern belle look is soooo completely me. I twist my neck so I can watch myself sway from behind in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Omigosh, why did petticoats ever go out of style? I mean, okay, fine, they’re not the most comfortable things to wear in the middle of, like, the single most humid June on record, but they swish when I walk.
    SWISH. When I walk.
    I reallllly need to put this dress back in my closet so it doesn’t get ruined before next week’s party because Sadie would KILL me after she was up first thing this morning talking the janitor into opening the school so we could borrow the costumes from Little Women . With a few tweaks they’re perfect Southern belle dresses. Okay, off it goes. But maybe just one or two more swishes first. Swish. Swish. Swish. Last one, I swear. Swish.
    Except  . . . this dress would give me the perfect excuse to find the cute boy from the Visitor’s Center social the other night and position myself right in front of him before murmuring, “I do declare, I’m feeling right faint in this heat.” And then I can swoon directly into his arms and he’ll realize he’s been looking for a girlfriend like me his whole life and he’ll have to revive me to tell me just that.
    So romantic.
    And just like that, I think of a possible song. I always get this buzz when I hit on an idea I’m excited about, and it’s like it hums through me as I grab my spiral notebook from under my pillow and flip past the giant PRIVATE on the cover. I turn sheets until I find a blank one and scribble “plantation,” “petticoat dress,” and “love like ours never goes out of fashion” to jog mymemory when I have time to work on it later, maybe with my guitar. I snap the notebook closed, but then find the page again quickly when a lyric comes to me out of the blue. I write,
    When I doubt,
    You surprise me.
    When I faint,
    You revive me.
    I promise, promise, promise myself I’ll go back to that page later. But I have my fingers crossed just in case that whole Pinocchio thing is true. My nose is totes my best feature and I don’t need it growing all long on me.