I squinted at Francesca. Even outside in the glaring sunshine she looked fantastic: her skin was a golden tan, and her hair was the color of Kraft Caramels. “So where do you want to go?” I asked, my teeth skidding on the last little slivers of ice cubes
“Oh, you decide,” Francesca said happily. “You’re the expert.”
“Well, you live here, don’t you? Where do you go when you want to have fun?”
“I don’t know. The mall, probably. When someone’s mom can drive us.”
She made a face. “Where...