I held up her booklet, smiling. “Look, Margaret!”
“Or presents!” she said, as she started on her right hand.
“Presents would be even better than compliments. And leave the price tag on, so everybody can see how good of a present it is and—”
“Margaret, look!” I interrupted her.
She looked up from her finger-patting.
Her mouth fell open and she dropped the towel. She had that exploding-cartoon-person look again.
“Who said you could read that?!” she shrieked. Then she charged across the room and snatched the booklet from me, never mind the Mitchell-germs.
Mascara, who had stuck his nose out while Margaret was in her bathroom, skittered back under the bed. If I could have fit under there, I would have, too.
Instead, I was stuck trying to calm Margaret down. “I didn’t read it! I was only . . . look! It’s fine, the tape—”
