“Seams are for clothes. You just wait,” Mema says. “Lord, I love that man, but he is set to give me a heart attack.” She shakes flour off her front over the sink and takes the bowl back. “Now, twenty minutes to breakfast. You all get out of my kitchen so I can finish up.”

There may be no snow here, but it is free-zing out. It’s going on night now, and I’m sitting out by the front door waiting for Mom to bring the van around because there’s no ramp off the porch out back. The wind hits full force because there are no hills to cut it, and my dress isn’t long enough to pull down over my knees.

Let’s not even talk about the fact that I have to wear a dress, with lace, to the Christmas Eve service at church. Mema insisted.

I don’t mind church, really, but it’s awkward when everybody stands up to sing and then sits down again. Up and down. Up and down while I just sit. And then there’s the “Please take a moment to greet your neighbor” weirdness. There’s always one mom or grandmama who talks at me like I’m two: “Oh, hellooooo. And how old are you?” (really loudly, two inches from my face). “The things you do for family,” as Mom would say.

“Psssst.”

I whip my chair around. It skids on the front walk. I swear the sound came from the bushes.

“Psssssssssst.”

“Who’s there?” I don’t know why I’m whispering.

A girl around my age in a bright red velvet dress steps out from behind the holly tree. Her hair’s so blond and big, it looks like a wig.

“How y’all doin’?”

“Who’s y’all?” I look around, like maybe there’s a crowd behind me waving back at her. When she takes a step forward, I shrink down a little in my chair.

“Aw, you know what I mean. Hiya, I’m Coralee.”

She holds her hand out and I make myself do a quick shake. I wonder how old she is and if her mother did that to her hair on purpose.

“Coral Dee?”

“Ha! Nah. Cora-LEE.”

She’s not wearing a jacket, and her velvet sleeves are puffed up to her ears. How is she not cold? Maybe she’s a robot.

“You’re Lily, right?”

How does she already know that? It’s like my wheelchair sends out the Bat-Signal for kids far and wide to come take a look.

“It’s Ellie.”

“Well, that’s a riddle of a name, Lily-slash-Ellie.”

She leans in, so I catch a whiff of hair spray, the kind that’s probably illegal because it burns a hole in the atmosphere.

“I heard my grandparents talking about you and your mama. They spotted y’all’s van pull in yesterday. Nice wheels.” She taps the racing stripes on my chair.