The woman sighs. She taps the sign again, a little less enthusiastically this time. “Sorry,” she says. “Those are the rules.”

If Daddy weren’t holding a sleeping Dylan, I think his fist would go right through that glass.

The woman leans to the side and looks around Mama. “Next!”

It’s snowing again. I think I still like snow, but not the cold. I pull the hood up on my coat and trudge through the slush to the bus stop. We’ll wait in line again to eat our supper at the Sixth Street Community Kitchen. I’m so hungry and cold and tired even canned green beans with their weird squeak and that gray goopy gravy sound good right about now. I feel snow sting my cheeks and tears sting my eyes.

I look around for that old woman and her little dog, Baby. I sure could use a dose of dog medicine right about now.

Then something catches my attention: It’s a flyer stapled to a pole. At the top of the flyer it says in big letters “Firefly Girls Troop 423 Meets Tonight!” I stop and look at the smiling girls on the flyer. I don’t bother reading what it says, I just look at those big smiles, shining eyes, and familiar electric-blue-and-yellow uniforms. I loved being a Firefly Girl. I loved the songs and crafts and field trips. I loved earning pins and badges. And I was the best, top-earning gourmet brownie seller in our troop back home in Cyprus Point. But most of all, I loved the friends I made, being part of something.

The bus pulls up, splashing cold, dirty water on my jeans. I turn away from Firefly Troop 423 and climb onto the bus.

Daddy settles into a seat, holding Dylan. He doesn’t look at me or Mama, but I can see the muscle in his jaw working. Mama’s always said Daddy may be a man of few words, but his face and hands speak volumes. When Daddy’s jaw muscles work like that, it means he’s worried and frustrated.

I slide into an empty seat a couple of rows back. Mama plops down next to me with a sigh. “What a day,” she says.

I’m too tired to say anything. The Firefly Girls motto is “Let Your Light Shine.” I don’t feel very shiny right now.

Mama looks down at my wet, dirty shoes. I look down at hers. They’re not in much better shape.

She shakes her head and brushes the hair away from my face. “It never crossed my mind we’d need different shoes.”

“Me neither,” I say. “I never knew snow would be so wet.”

“Or cold,” Mama adds. The corner of her mouth twitches.

“Or white!” I giggle.

“And fall straight from the sky!” Mama crows.

Don’t ask me why, but me and Mama both start laughing so hard, we can’t stop.