and I know right then

and there

that not only can she not

read

and

write,

math isn’t her strong point either.

Miss Freeman,

I say,

just add . . .

Hush now,

Momma says,

giving me a stinging

pinch on the arm.

The man smiles pretty

at Momma and

she smiles pretty at him.

All those white

teeth.

I feel my ears go hot.

A mile and half from home,

I think.

I can walk that easy.

Oh, Lizzie.

Miss Freeman

gives the man some change,

two fives,

and three ones.

You owe me

more than this,

he says,

his voice loud.

More?

Miss Freeman says.

I notice her hands shake.

I feel sad and

small inside.

I feel old.

And dirty.

I try to stare

a bullet into that cheating

orphan man’s heart.

He nods and sneaks

the loose change

and bills into his pocket

while holding out his other hand.

Miss Freeman gives him

a ten-dollar bill that’s

wrinkled

and old looking.

And a quarter, too,

he says.

Of course,

Miss Freeman says.

She rings NO SALE

and the cash register dings open.

I look away

when she gives him the money.

We all walk

out of the store,

though my feet

are stone,

into the bright Florida

sunlight, and Momma

lets out a giggle.

I get into our

car, while Momma whispers

to orphan man.

I think,

I cannot stand his guts.

I cannot stand him at all.

I like Miss Freeman.

Follow me,

Momma says to him.

She gets into

our car, slamming

the door

shut.

And he follows us in

his fancy blue car.

What about Lizzie, Momma?
I say.

We’re supposed to see

her today.

But Momma ignores me.

Just

down the road,

orphan man signals

Momma with his car lights.

He turns off next to

the Winn-Dixie

and Momma pulls up behind.

What’s he planning?

Momma asks no one.

But she has

this laugh on her face.

Orphan man

gathers up all the clothes

and throws them

into a Dumpster.

Hey,

I say.

Hey.

Momma laughs her head off.

Slaps at the steering wheel.

Boy,

Momma says,

he made some money

on that one.

On Miss Freeman,

I think,

but I say,

What about our clothes?

My shorts?

Quit being so damn selfish,

Momma says.

She slaps my leg,

leaving a pink handprint

right above my knee.

Just leave me here,

I say,

staring out the window,

away from her.

And Momma does.

When I can’t see

their cars anymore,

when they are gone

from my sight,

I peer into the Dumpster.

The clothes are way

at the bottom, in something

that looks like

melted chocolate ice cream

and wilted lettuce. I can’t

see my shorts

or Lizzie’s nightshirt

only the stuff orphan man

stole.

I start walking

and head to Mari’s,

hoping she’s home,

and that whole long walk

I keep hearing

Miss Freeman say,

Will you tell the children

it’s a gift from me?

And orphan man,

him saying,

Yes, ma’am, I surely will.