Suddenly the door pushed open, smashing me against the wall. Diana came in, wearing her father’s Heineken T-shirt and carrying a deck of cards. “What are you doing?” she said, throwing herself on my bed. “Do you think I’ve lost weight this week? Maybe because we’ve been riding bikes so much?” “I don’t know,” Diana said. She sounded bored. She shuffled the deck of cards in a smooth, practiced way, making them whir like a little fan. “Who cares? You look at yourself in the mirror way too much.” “I do?” “Yeah! It’s annoying. I mean, everyone already thinks you’re gorgeous. You don’t need to play it up. It makes you seem stuck-up or something.” She started laying out the cards to play Solitaire on my blue bedspread. “I’m not stuck-up!” I said. I liked looking in the mirror because I hadn’t been “pretty” until just a year or so ago. Suddenly boys liked looking at me, and I felt like I had to check to see why. And to tell the truth, sometimes I looked in the mirror to figure out who I was.
