When I was in fourth grade, my new best friend, CK, told me she’d read every single Nancy Drew book in the series. I was impressed and mentioned this to my sister. Big mistake. She copied my friend and checked out a couple of Nancy Drew books from the library and loved them. Next thing I knew, she was working her way through the series, one book at a time.
Well, that was it. No reading Nancy Drew for me—I wasn’t going to be like my sister. No way! Even though my sister is older, my mother bought us the same outfits at the same time and we had to wear them on the same days. We had the same haircut. Even when we weren’t dressed alike, people stopped us at the playground to ask if we were twins.
No, there’d be no Nancy Drew for me. I had to find my own sleuth. That’s how I discovered Trixie Belden. Here are the first few sentences from book one: “Oh, Moms,” Trixie moaned, running her hands through her short, sandy curls. “I’ll just die if I don’t have a horse.”
Oh, my gosh! Trixie wanted a horse; I wanted a horse! We were the same! Trixie instantly became the It girl for me. Trixie met that girl Honey who owned horses. In fifth grade, I groomed horses on weekends for my school librarian. Trixie wore jeans and went outside a lot, and even though she was older than me (she was thirteen), she seemed like a real girl, like someone I could be friends with.
I’m whispering now because I don’t want Trixie to hear this: I did sneak a few reads of Nancy Drew, but I didn’t like it. At eighteen, Nancy was too old and too sure of herself. She could doctor people up, skin dive, trick locks open—how did she know all this stuff? Trixie was more like me, discovering things along the way.
In recent weeks, I’ve read the first few Nancy Drew books. My gosh! These books are good—something is always happening. There is no down time in a Nancy Drew book. I like Nancy, shh! And I think it’s funny how each book references Nancy’s past mysteries by title and foretells the next mystery by book title.
I’ve also taken another look at Trixie and I’ll tell you what—Trixie is still my It girl. And I still want my own horse.
Although real pink flamingos aren’t indigenous to Florida, I’m pretty sure the plastic ones are. When I first moved to the Sunshine State, plastic pink flamingos graced many yards, always in multiples of two (being sold only in pairs). I thought they were kind of funny. I liked their pink color. I bought a pair.
