11

I GO TO JANETTE’S OFFICE at Belleview the next day, armed with my notebook and my pen. “I
had an idea for a craft class. ‘Scrapbooking to the Oldies.’” Janette nods at me and I continue. “I can
teach the residents how to scrapbook, and we’ll go through all their old photos and mementos and
listen to oldies.”
“That sounds great,” she says.
“So I could run that class and also I could take on Friday night cocktail hour?”
Janette takes a bite of her tuna-fish sandwich and swallows. “We might cut the cocktail hour
altogether.”
“Cut it?” I repeat in disbelief.
She shrugs. “Attendance has been waning ever since we started offering a computer class. The
residents have figured out Netflix. It’s a whole new world out there.”
“What if we made it more of an event? Like, more special?”
“We don’t really have the budget for anything fancy, Lara Jean. I’m sure Margot’s told you how
we have to make do around here. Our budget’s tiny.”
“No, no, it could be really DIY stuff. Just simple little touches will make all the difference. Like
we could make a jacket mandatory for the men. And couldn’t we borrow glassware from the dining
room instead of using plastic cups?” Janette is still listening, so I keep on going. “Why serve peanuts
right out of the can, when we can put them in a nice bowl, right?”
“Peanuts taste like peanuts no matter the receptacle.”
“They’d taste more elegant served out of a crystal bowl.”
I’ve said too much. Janette is thinking this all sounds like too much trouble, I can tell. She says,
“We don’t have crystal bowls, Lara Jean.”
“I’m sure I can scrounge one up at home,” I assure her.
“It sounds like a lot of work for every Friday night.”
“Well—maybe it could just be once a month. That would make it feel even more special. Why
don’t we take a little hiatus and bring it back in full force in a month or so?” I suggest. “We can give
people a chance to miss it. Build the anticipation and then really do it right.” Janette nods a
begrudging nod, and before she can change her mind I say, “Think of me as your assistant, Janette.
Leave it all to me. I’ll take care of everything.”
She shrugs. “Have at it.”

Chris and I are hanging out in my room that afternoon when Peter calls. “I’m driving by your house,”
he says. “Wanna do something?”
“No!” Chris shouts into the phone. “She’s busy.”
He groans into my ear.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “Chris is over.”
He says he’ll call me later, and I’ve barely set down the phone when Chris grouses, “Please don’t