It was nearly eleven P.M. and the end of my shift when I went out to the shed to restock our shelves. With the exception of a street lamp at least fifty yards away, there was no lighting out back, and I was always a bit leery of going out there at night. Gary told me that a few years earlier one of the evening workers had been mugged by a couple hoodlums hiding out back. As usual, I looked around before I stepped out, then slid a rock under the door to prop it open. I quickly ran to the freezer, unlocked the door, retrieved a bag of lard, closed the door and snapped the padlock shut. I was walking back when I heard something. My heart froze. I looked around but saw no one. Then I heard the sound again. Someone was definitely behind the Dumpster. No. In the Dumpster.

I quietly walked backward toward the Queen, keeping an eye on the Dumpster. Suddenly, a girl popped up; she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her. She was holding a hamburger, which she quickly dropped. She looked familiar.

After a moment she said nervously, “I dropped something in here. I was just looking for it.”

I realized how I recognized her; she was in my seventh period Spanish class. I didn’t remember her name; she sat in the back corner of the room and never raised her hand and only spoke when the teacher called on her. I knew she was Dumpster diving but I didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Do you want help finding it?”

“No, I’m okay.”

She pushed herself up with her arms and swung her legs over the metal edge so that she was sitting on the flat rim of the Dumpster, then dropped down to the asphalt. She had short umber hair and beautiful large brown eyes—almond-shaped like my mother’s. I remembered seeing her for the first time at school and thinking she was pretty, but then she just kind of faded into the background. She was small, a few inches shorter than me. It was hard to tell what her figure was like because she wore a coat that was too large for her, but she seemed to be more developed than most of the girls my age. She stooped and lifted her schoolbag, then flung it over her shoulder.

“You’re in my Spanish class,” I said.

She looked even more embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Grace.”

I was certain I’d never heard it before. “Grace?”

“Well, the teachers call me Madeline. My full name is Madeline Grace. What’s your name?”

“Eric.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, though I doubt she ever knew it. I could tell she was uncomfortable. I wondered if after I left she would climb back in the Dumpster to look for more food. The thought made me sad.