Chapter 22
The moment we arrived at the swap meet, I realized I was looking for Tiffany. Every strand of blonde hair gleaming in the sun was her. Every white dress, too. And, considering the number of kids dressed as angels for the Christmas in July costume contest, I saw Tiffany every time I turned around.
And then I saw her for real.
“If you’re looking for a bed, I’ve got this camp cot,” Mr. Macintyre told my aunt and uncle. “It’s not big, but Rebecca’s not a big girl. She’ll fit A-OK.”
“I don’t know.” Uncle Flip’s voice was like static, background noise. “There’s an awful lot of rust along this side. Where have you been storing it?”
I’d spotted Tiffany, but she hadn’t seen me. Not yet. I wondered if she was angry. This whole situation felt like a movie: me surrounded by l
