Before I knew if I was a Carrie or a Miranda, before I knew what my favorite Avenger or Disney Princess said about me, I knew I was a Mary Anne.
She was the shy, sheltered one in Ann M. Martin's Baby-Sitters Club books, and thus my way into the world they promised: cozy and comfortable, with just enough adventure to spark a preteen's imagination, but not so much that her ability to return safely home at the end of the day was ever in doubt. Like me, Mary Anne was rarely the one who made things happen, but so often the one who came through when they did. If she could live in Stoneybrook, so could I. Read more...
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