I tried these words on in my head, alone in my room, the bedside lamp on, folded under the covers, escaping into the pages of a book. That’s what I mouthed to myself, then: scarcely. Like every girl, I wanted both.Īnother series: four girls away at camp-it was in truth a boarding school, but I could scarcely imagine such a thing. Like every girl, I wanted a twin or a best friend. A series about twins, one good and one slightly more interesting. No one felt alone past the second chapter. A series about two best friends from the same street who made room for a third. These were books about girls with doting fathers and best friends named George, books about an adopted boy named Jim and his sister, Honey. I remember, with a specificity that surprises me, the foreignness of certain colors: kelly green, strawberry blonde. In the books I read growing up, there were always words I couldn’t quite imagine. Photograph courtesy of Sonal Gadhia Dubey
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