Anastasia on Her Own by Lois Lowry

years old," she said irritably. "It's okay if you look stupid. But I can't be purple for my first date!"
    "Wear gloves," Sam suggested.
    "Like Michael Jackson?" Anastasia asked sarcastically. "That would really look terrific—about as romantic as Ringling Brothers Circus."
    "No, not like Michael Jackson," Sam said patiently. "Wait a minute and I'll show you." He left the kitchen and Anastasia could hear him heading for his father's study. In a minute he was back, holding a record album. "Like this," he said, and showed her the cover.
    Anastasia looked carefully at the picture of Sarah Vaughan standing beside a piano. Her hair was swept up on top of her head; she was wearing dangling earrings. And she had on gloves that went right up to her elbows.
    "That looks pretty good," Anastasia mused. "Pretty sophisticated. Trouble is, I don't have any gloves like that. And Mom doesn't either."
    Sam got down from his chair again and trotted off to the pantry. "Here," he said when he came back, and he handed Anastasia two quilted pot holder mittens: one blue, the other yellow with tiny red flowers.
    Anastasia put one on each hand and leaned against the washing machine as if it were a piano. She struck a pose. Sam giggled.
    "Caaan't help loooving that maaannnn of mine," sang Anastasia, gesturing with her thickly gloved hands.
    "Good idea, Sam," she said, "but it won't work." She took the gloves off. "Tonight I'll take a bath in Clorox. And if I'm still purple after that, I'll just make the lights very dim tomorrow night. Maybe no one will notice that I'm purple."
    She found a piece of paper and a pencil. "Time for another schedule," she said.

8

    Anastasia reached over and tapped some fish food into Frank's bowl.
    "I'm sorry I forgot this morning, Frank," she said, watching him swim frantically to the surface with his mouth open. "You're a little overweight anyway, so a brief diet won't hurt."
    Frank glared at her, and gulped another mouthful of food.
    "I've been so busy preparing for my first date," Anastasia explained.
    "And now," she went on happily, "everything's ready. I'm so well organized. I made the veal yesterday, and now it's back on the stove all ready to be heated up. And there's a gorgeous purple tablecloth on the dining room table, and two purple candles, so it's super-romantic.
    "And you know what, Frank?" she asked her fish. "Dad didn't forget the flowers. He brought home a whole bouquet of purple and white chrysanthemums, and they're right in the middle of the table, and—"
    She stopped talking so that she could examine herself in the mirror. Frank didn't seem to be listening anyway. Goldfish were not very good listeners.
    It was five-thirty, and Anastasia was wearing her bathrobe. The Clorox bath hadn't removed all of the purple stains, but it had helped, and she would simply keep the lights very low. Her mother's make-up was waiting on the top of her desk, and laid across her bed was a dress she had found in her mother's closet. It wasn't exactly purple, but it was a deep shade of blue: close enough, especially with the dim lights.
    "Anastasia?" her father called up the stairs to her third-floor bedroom.
    "Yeah?"
    "Have you done any laundry recently? I have a shirt to wear tonight, but it's my last clean shirt."
    Anastasia made a face. Of
course
she hadn't done any laundry recently. She'd been
much
too busy with more important things. Men just didn't understand things like that.
    She went down the stairs and found her father in his bedroom.
    "I've gotten a little behind with the laundry, Dad," she said. "But I'm so well organized that I can put your shirts in the washing machine right now. The dinner's all made, and the table's all set, and the record is waiting on the stereo—"
    "You've done a remarkable job, Anastasia," Dr. Krupnik said. "The dining room looks beautiful. By the way, I noticed that you hadn't dusted. So I just took off my shirt downstairs and ran it across the furniture."
    He pointed to a pile of