“Yes,” I said.
Janelle jumped up out of her chair and raised both arms over her head.
“BEST PROM EVER!” she shouted.
We bought the washing machine that Saturday. A brand new one, white and shiny, with eleven different settings that none of us understood. The delivery guys installed it in the little closet off our kitchen.
Mom stood before it for ages after they left. She ran her hand over the top of it.
“No more laundromat,” she said quietly.
“No more laundromat,” I said.
The same afternoon, I took Janelle to the shoe store at the mall. She picked out a pair of white sneakers without a single hole in them. She wore them out of the store. She carried her old duct-taped ones in the bag, and when we got home she threw them straight in the trash. CompareShoes
“Goodbye forever,” she told them.
Georgia and I stayed friends.
