Rhonda made her way through her cluttered living room, mock-sweeping up the cigarette butts and beer bottle tops from the night before. Rhonda wasn’t a dirty woman, but her house always looked like a whirlwind had swept through it. It was due in part to the card parties she often threw. Being that Rhonda was one of the few girls who had her own crib, the girls were always coming through partying. On weekends, Rhonda sold plates to everyone in the hood to have some extra cake to stack on top of what she was already getting from the government.

Though Rhonda wasn’t the most book smart of her friends, she was a master hustler. She was getting checks from all branches of the aid system. The state gave her a little cash and food stamps for her three children, but the big payoff was Social Security. Rhonda had swallowed some of her own stool when she was born, so the doctors said there was a chance she might develop a learning disability. Though there was nothing wrong with her, her mother went to the state building and told them there was. Rhonda’s mother had been getting checks for her since she was four years old, and when Rhonda turned eighteen, they came in her name. The hustle was so sweet that she used her son’s ADD condition to get one for him, too.

“Alisha.” Rhonda turned to her thirteen-year-old daughter. “Get off my goddamn phone and go iron P.J.’s clothes.”

Alisha rolled her eyes. “Hold on,” she said into the phone and covered the receiver with her hand. “A’ight! I’ll do it when I get off the phone.”

“Bitch, who you yelling at?” Rhonda tossed a shoe at the child. “Don’t make me whip your little pissy ass! You just do like I say.”

Alisha hung up the phone, with a suck of her teeth. When she passed Rhonda, she mumbled, “I hate you.”

“What the fuck you just say?” Rhonda grabbed Alisha by the shirt. “Say it again, so I can kick your little ass.” She shoved Alisha roughly toward the bedroom.

Alisha wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction. All her mother ever did was yell and curse at them. All of the kids’ mothers yelled, but not like Rhonda. There were things that Alisha wanted to confide in her mother, as every little girl did, but they didn’t have that type of relationship. She longed for the day when she was old enough to move out. When Alisha got to the back of the apartment, she slammed the door roughly.