“I can’t hire you, kiddo,” Margo said. I was only eleven. “I’d have CPS and the DOL all over my ass for child labor. But if you take orders and people leave you tips, I mean, what am I gonna do about it? You’re not on my payroll, right?” She winked at me and put an apron on the counter. “I’m not giving this to you, but if you take it, I’ll pretend I didn’t see nothing.”

When I was fourteen, she took me to get my work permit and we made it official. She even bought me a new apron—white, with a big daisy on the bib. “I’m proud of you, kiddo,” she said, her eyes shining.

“I didn’t do anything. I just got older.”

“Ain’t that the truth? That’s what we’re all doing, right, girlie?” She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed me until I was smushed against her boob. “Tst. Just got older!” When she laughed, I could feel her whole body shake against mine.

I didn’t know if I was supposed to hug back or say something or what. Except for Margo, no one ever hugged me.

Dale comes in, so Margo works the dining room with me, but she lets me keep all the tips. We finish the lunch shift, do refills and wipe downs, count out the drawer, and play Old Maid at the counter until my real shift starts.

“I don’t get why you’re failing math,” Margo says, pulling a card from my hand. “Not once have you made a mistake with the drawer. Not even when you were little.” She puts a pair of kings down.

“It’s not the same math,” I say. “It’s like if train A is running at x speed and train B is running at y, which one will get there first.”

“Is one of them an express?” Margo cringes as I pull a card from her hand.

“Yeah, they don’t tell you that.” I put down threes.

“Then how you supposed to do the problem?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” I angle my hand so she can take another card.

“They should teach you useful stuff, like how to fight with the power company when your bill is wrong. You want to know when a train comes in, you read the schedule.”

I know what she’s saying doesn’t add up to a hundred percent, but I like that she’s siding with me just the same.

Margo gets stuck with the odd queen.

“Old Maid,” I shout, slapping my last pair on the counter.

“Well, you don’t have to go calling me names, Miss April,” she says, scooping up the cards to deal another round.

Ida comes back at four thirty for dinner. “How was school today, April?” she asks, following our usual script.

“I didn’t— I saw you at lunch.”