Agnes
The next morning, I woke to a text from Evelyn. She asked me to attend a mother-daughter fashion show in her pack; it was a small event to gather donations for her local women’s shelter, and I couldn’t agree to go fast enough. The show was set for that weekend, and I was already buzzing with ideas for outfits—using what Thea and I already had, of course.
When Thea came downstairs for breakfast that morning, I told her about the upcoming show. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “A real fashion show? Like on TV?” she asked, her mouth full of toast.
I laughed. “Not quite that fancy, but yes, a real fashion show. For charity. Chew your food, by the way.”
Thea dramatically chewed and swallowed. “Yes, yes, yes! I want to go!” she squealed once her mouth was no longer
