Two shadows fall across the concrete floor. I look up, and my good feelings evaporate. Sandi Cardoza and Delia stand in the doorway with their arms crossed and judgment written on their faces. They are furious that I’ve stolen their pets and fed them. I brush crumbs from my skirt and say in a brusque voice, “See? No ghosts. Now off you go.”

Delia huffs, and Sandi pulls Beatrice’s braids when the pets bolt through the door and hurry to the pretties’ room. Lottie pretends to read her book while I make a show of memorizing John 12:46. I have come into the world as light, so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness. I already know the words by heart, but I need a wall to hide behind while Delia and Sandi Cardoza stare at us.

Peaches sticks her head between the other two and makes a clicking sound with her tongue. Then she shakes her head the way native women do when they simply do not have the words to describe the terrible tragedy they have witnessed with their own eyes. The tongue click and head shake are usually reserved for car accidents and natural disasters, but in Peaches’s mind, what I’ve done is equally as tragic. I am a pet stealer and a breaker of the rules. I have accidentally declared war on them.

After an eternity of cold stares, they turn and walk away. I shiver. Once I was their friend. Then I was nothing. Stealing their pets was the last straw. Now I am their enemy.

11

Under-War

“Where is it?”

The next morning, Lottie checks the bottom of our shared wardrobe, the top two drawers of the dresser, and the sides of her mattress. She kneels and sweeps her hand under her cot, her breath coming in small hard gasps. Nothing. It’s no use. The dry pair of underwear that hangs over the metal rail at the end of her cot, waiting to be exchanged for the freshly washed pair, is gone.

“Maybe it’s under mine.” I crouch and search the dark space between the iron bedsprings and the floor. My suitcase, filled with canned treasures, is pushed into a back corner. The reason that it’s hidden so far from the light embarrasses me. Lottie has never touched my clothes or used my hairbrush on the sly or begged for a can of condensed milk. The incident with the impago box? Well, I may have been wrong there . . .

“Nothing.” I sit up and chew the inside of my cheek. Lottie takes care of what she has. Every piece of clothing is precious, and this morning, when the bell rang and we rushed to the washroom line, her dry underwear was right where it ought to be. She didn’t move it and I didn’t move it and a nervous feeling grows in my stomach.

“They’re gone.” Bright color stings Lottie’s cheeks. “Gone.”