“Don’t,” I muttered. Kevin was striding into the kitchen.
“Ready to go?” He zipped up his sweatshirt. Behind him, Tammy was grinning, probably over some hilarious conversation they’d just had. “I have sixty pages of econ to go over before tomorrow.”
Peter and I got our jackets and Tammy pulled on a sweater Mom had loaned her. She’d insisted on wearing T-shirts for the first week she was here, because, she claimed, that was just what people wore in June, but she finally accepted the reality of northern California and started dressing in layers after she wound up walking home from work shivering night after night.
We said goodbye to Mom and went outside.
“I feel like I should put on makeup,” Tammy whispered as we stepped out into the bright, chilly evening. Peter and Kevin had gone on ahead toward the car. “But I didn’t bring any.”
“Don’t worry, none of the women at the bookstore use makeup. I wore mascara there once and felt so self-conscious I snuck into the bathroom to wipe it off.”
Tammy laughed, her elbow knocking into mine. “I’m so excited to finally see this bookstore. You make it sound like paradise.”
“Well, it’s just a bookstore. It’s the women there who make it cool.”
“I believe you. That’s why I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be.” I smiled. “They’re going to think you’re amazing. How could they not?”
She smiled back. “Thanks, Sharon.”
It feels strange to hear her say my name out loud. A good kind of strange.
The guys were standing beside Kevin’s car, having some kind of argument about the Eagles. Tammy laughed at something Peter had said and tossed her new short hair. She’d used the first few dollars she’d earned to get it cut, and it doesn’t even reach her shoulders anymore.
I was shocked when she first stepped out of the salon—the change was so dramatic, she might as well have been a different person than the girl who’d first shown up on my doorstep—but she was smiling such a huge smile. When I first met her she’d looked like Marcia Brady, but now she’s closer to a young, blond Dorothy Hamill. Or maybe Billie Jean King.
We dropped off Peter first, a few blocks down from Castro so Kevin wouldn’t realize where he was going, and a few minutes later, we were pulling up in front of the bookstore. A little thrill ran through me at the sight of it, the way it always does. The bookstore’s a fascinating island in the middle of a much more boring world. Or it was, anyway, up until Tammy arrived and made the whole universe interesting and confusing all at once.
We said goodbye to Kevin. Evelyn was by the door when we arrived, talking to Lisa.
“Hey! This is my friend Tammy.” I was practically bouncing on my toes, I was so excited for them all to meet.
“Hey, Tammy.” Evelyn looked nearly as happy as I was. “It’s cool to meet another young feminist.”
Tammy beamed as she shook their hands. That was probably the first time anyone had ever called her a feminist. I’m still getting used to that word myself. “It’s cool to meet you, too!”
“We’re set up in the usual spot.” Evelyn pointed behind her. “Sharon, can you show Tammy how everything works?”
“Definitely.”
Half a dozen women were gathered around the table. I recognized them all from other volunteer nights. The table was piled high with brochures, envelopes, and sheets of paper filled with addresses, so Tammy and I took seats and grabbed stacks of our own, each of us reaching into our purses for a pen.
“Here, we have extras,” Alex said, passing some over.
Lisa settled into a seat opposite us, and I watched as she and the others discreetly took in Tammy—her short hair, her sparkling green eyes, the sunniness she projects everywhere she goes. She smiled at them all, as easily as ever.
“That’s a gorgeous tattoo,” Tammy told Alex, pointing to her shoulder.
“Thanks.” Alex was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and at the crown of her light brown shoulder was a deep black double-headed ax.