Perfect Girl - Weebly

un both hands down the front of her narrow rose-colored
skirt, adjust her big black sunglasses, lift a tan leather suitcase
out of the trunk, and smooth her white-blond hair.
I witness all of it from the window of my messy beige
room.
It’s still true. My aunt Marty is a Goddess.
Diving for my bedroom door, I fly down the stairs and
race into the living room just as Aunt Marty knocks on the
door.
“I’ll get it!” I screech.
Practically pulling the doorknob off, I fling open the
door.
“You’re here,” I say, breathless.
Aunt Marty smiles and floats through the front door,
dropping her soft leather suitcase on the hardwood floor.
“Beautiful, sweet Ruthie,” she says, her eyes peering into
mine. “I had no idea you’d be so grown-up. How old are
you now? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Fourteen.” I beam.
“Let me look at you.”
Holding one shoulder in each hand, my aunt scans me
up and down.
“My goodness,” she coos. “Fourteen and so mature
already. Such a lovely young woman.”
I glow. You can always count on Levi’s.
Aunt Marty reaches her hand to my face and gently
cups my chin. Even after a three-hour drive from New York
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