Perfect Girl - Weebly

checked himself into an asylum at the time. See how the circles
surround each yellow star? It’s as if his spirit was trapped
inside, caught in a whirl of emotions.”
I beamed. Aunt Marty knew everything.
“Plus,” Mom said, one eyebrow cocked as if she had the
inside scoop, “van Gogh is the artist who cut off his own ear
for the woman he loved.”
“Only part of his ear,” Aunt Marty corrected her. “And
it wasn’t for a woman. In a psychotic episode, van Gogh
lunged at his friend—the painter Paul Gauguin—with a
razor. He didn’t cut him, but later that night, wracked with
guilt, he sliced a chunk out of his own ear.”
Mom gave her sister a look. I looked at her, too—with
awe. That day, I saw how much there was to know in the
world. How much more lay beyond Odessa.
The three of us walked more than I’ve ever walked in
my life. My aunt paid for everything—even my sparkly
Barney’s sandals that were ridiculously expensive and so cool
I couldn’t wait to show Celeste.
“When you’re in my town,” Aunt Marty said, “you’re
my guest.”
I loved every part of the city—the smell of kebabs
grilling in the sidewalk food stands, the blasts of heat from
the subway grates, the buzz in the air, the clicking of expensive
shoes. Eventually, Mom chilled out, though she steadfastly
refused to cross the street against a red light no matter
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