“There’s room for everyone in the Park!” Grandpa likes to say when he sees us all running around, but honestly, sometimes the Park feels pretty crowded.

That’s the thing: in a small town, I always feel like there are too many people. Maybe it’s just that there are too many people I know, or who know me.

Right after Mom died I couldn’t go anywhere without someone coming up to me and putting an arm around me or patting me on the head. People were nice, don’t get me wrong, but everyone knows everything in a small town. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.

Mom grew up outside of Chicago, and that’s where my other grandmother, her mother, still lives. I call her Mimi. We go there every Thanksgiving, which I love. I remember asking her once when we were at the supermarket why there were so many people she didn’t know. She laughed and explained that she lived in a big town, where most people don’t know each other.

It fascinated me that she could walk into the supermarket and no one there would know where she had just been, or that she bought a store-bought cake and was going to tell everyone she baked it. No one was peering into her cart and asking what she was making for lunch, or how the tomatoes tasted last week. Nans always wonders if Mimi is lonely, since she lives by herself, but it sounds nice to me.

Everyone in our family pitches in, but I officially start working at Donut Dreams next week for a full shift every day, which is kind of nice. I’ll work for Dad. He bought me a T-shirt that says THE DREAM TEAM that I can wear when I’m behind the counter.

We have a couple of really small tables near the counter that are separate from the restaurant, so people can sit down and eat their donuts or have coffee. I’ll have to clean those and make sure that the floor around them is swept too.

Uncle Charlie computerized the ordering systems last year, so all I’ll have to do is just swipe what someone orders and it’ll total it for me, keep track of the inventory, and even tell me how much change to give, which is good because Grandpa is a real stickler about that.

“A hundred pennies add up to a dollar!” he always yells when he finds random pennies on the floor or left on a table.

Dad will help me set up what we’re calling my “Dream Account,” which is a bank account where I’ll deposit my paycheck. I figure if I can save really well for six years, I can have a good portion to put toward my dream college.