“It seems like just yesterday that I was telling seven-year-old Hazel why the sky was blue. You thought I was a genius back then.”
“Why is the sky blue?” I asked. “Cuz,” she answered. I laughed.
As it got closer to ten, I grew more and more nervous: nervous to see Augustus; nervous to meet Peter Van Houten;
nervous that my outfit was not a good outfit; nervous that we wouldn’t find the right house since all the houses in Amsterdam looked pretty similar;
nervous that we would get lost and never make it back to the Filosoof; nervous nervous nervous.
Mom kept trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t really listen. I was about to ask her to go upstairs and make sure Augustus was up when he knocked.
I opened the door. He looked down at the shirt and smiled. “Funny,” he said.
“Don’t call my boobs funny,” I answered. “Right here,” Mom said behind us.
But I’d made Augustus blush and put him enough off his game that I could finally bear to look up at him.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” I asked Mom. “I’m going to the Rijksmuseum and the Vondelpark today,” she said.
“Plus, I just don’t get his book. No offense. Thank him and Lidewij for us, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. I hugged Mom, and she kissed my head just above my ear.
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