The Witness

herself, as she watched the packs of teenagers, groups of women, teams of families, wander by. She just needed to regroup.
    She needed clothes, but she didn’t have a plan, a list, an agenda. Impulse buying was exhilarating, and exhausting. The temper that had driven her this far left her with a dull headache, and her earlobes throbbed a little.
    The logical, sensible thing to do was go home, lie down for a while. Then plan, make that list of items to be purchased.
    But that was the old Elizabeth. This one was just going to catch her breath.
    The problem facing her now was that she wasn’t precisely sure which store or stores she should go to. There were so many of them, and all the windows full of
things.
So she’d wander, watch for girls her age. She’d go where they went.
    She gathered her bags, pushed to her feet—and bumped into someone.
    “Excuse me,” she began, then recognized the girl. “Oh. Julie.”
    “Yeah.” The blonde with the sleek, perfect hair and melted-chocolate eyes gave Elizabeth a puzzled look. “Do I know you?”
    “Probably not. We went to school together. I was student teacher in your Spanish class. Elizabeth Fitch.”
    “Elizabeth, sure. The brain trust.” Julie narrowed her sulky eyes. “You look different.”
    “Oh. I …” Embarrassed now, Elizabeth lifted a hand to her hair. “I cut my hair.”
    “Cool. I thought you moved away or something.”
    “I went to college. I’m home for the summer.”
    “Oh, yeah, you graduated early. Weird.”
    “I suppose it is. Will you go to college this fall?”
    “I’m supposed to go to Brown.”
    “That’s a wonderful school.”
    “Okay. Well …”
    “Are you shopping?”
    “Broke.” Julie shrugged—and Elizabeth took a survey of her outfit—the snug jeans, riding very low on the hipbones, the skinny, midriff-baring shirt, the oversized shoulder bag and wedge sandals. “I just came to the mall to see my boyfriend—my
ex
-boyfriend, since I broke up with him.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Screw him. He works at the Gap. We were supposed to go out tonight, and now he says he has to work till ten, then wants to hang out with his bros after. I’ve had it, so I dumped him.”
    Elizabeth started to point out that he shouldn’t be penalized for honoring his obligations, but Julie kept talking—and it occurred to Elizabeth that the other girl hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her since they’d known each other.
    “So I’m going over to Tiffany’s, see if she wants to hang, because now I’ve got no boyfriend for the summer. It sucks. I guess you hang out with college guys.” Julie gave her a considering look. “Go to frat parties, keggers, all that.”
    “I … There are a lot of men at Harvard.”
    “Harvard.” Julie rolled her eyes. “Any of them in Chicago for the summer?”
    “I couldn’t say.”
    “A college guy, that’s what I need. Who wants some loser who works at the mall? I need somebody who knows how to have fun, who can take me places, buy alcohol. Good luck with that, unless you can get into the clubs. That’s where they hang out. Just need to score some fake ID.”
    “I can do that.” The instant the words were out, Elizabeth wondered where they’d come from. But Julie gripped her arm, smiled at her as if they were friends.
    “No bull?”
    “No. That is, it’s not very difficult to create false identification with the right tools. A template, photo, laminate, a computer with Photoshop.”
    “Brain trust. What’ll it take for you to make me a driver’s license that’ll get me into a club?”
    “As I said, a template—”
    “No, Jesus. What do you want for it?”
    “I …” Bargaining, Elizabeth realized. A barter. “I need to buy some clothes, but I don’t know what I should buy. I need someone to help me.”
    “A shopping buddy?”
    “Yes. Someone who knows. You know.”
    Eyes no longer sulky, voice no longer bored, Julie simply beamed. “That’s
my
brain trust. And if I help you pick out some outfits, you’ll make me up the ID?”
    “Yes. And I’d also want to go with you to the club. So I’d need the right clothes for that, too.”
    “You? Clubbing? More than your hair’s changed, Liz.”
    Liz. She was Liz. “I’d need a photo, and it will take a little while to construct the IDs. I could have them done tomorrow. What club would we go to?”
    “Might as well go for the hottest club in town. Warehouse 12. Brad Pitt went there when he was in