hoping sheâll be grossed out.
Grammie just laughs. âHuh. I wiped your bottom, missy. You think you can scare me off with a little saliva?â But she lets me go.
I hide my face in my arms. âWell, it was worth a try.â
Grammie smooths her hand down the part between my braids. She rubs my neck. âDonât let them get to you.â
I roll my head to the side. âWho?â
My innocent expression needs some work, apparently. Grammie shoots me a knowing look. âWhoeverâs getting to you.â
âIâm fine, Grammie.â
âOh, youâre just asking for the hair, now.â Grammie has a fantastic head of bushy white hair, and she will shake it in my face to make a point from time to time.
She grabs my shoulders with both hands and lets it fly. I slam my eyes shut. Itâs like being whacked with a feather duster, and she smells like Pert Plus. Strands fly up my nose and into my mouth, but by the time sheâs done, Iâm laughing.
Still, Iâve never been so glad to hear the doorbell ring.It chimes at the exact same moment the egg timer goes off. Grammie snatches up the money and marches to the door.
I lose my bets.
CHAPTER 4
I dread this part of the day. itâs early morning and Iâm still in bed, but Iâve been awake long enough that I have to pee. Itâs time to get ready for school. Covers off, feet on the cool ground, scurry to the bathroom. Eyes on the floor all the way.
I can pee with my eyes closed. Iâm not super proud of that or anything; Iâm just stating a fact. I can do most bathroom things with my eyes closed. Wash my hands, wash my face, brush my teeth, floss. I can comb and braid my hair by feel.
After the fact, I canât be sure. Did I get all the drool stains from the corner of my mouth? Any leftover eye crust? A stowaway piece of spinach in my teeth? A flyaway chunk of hair?
I have to open my eyes. Just for a second, just to check. Just long enough to ruin my day.
Eyes closed, I flush the toilet and glide my way to the sink. The faucet handle is where it always is. So is the soap. I wash my hands and face, then grab for my toothbrush.
Eyes closed, I fumble for the toothpaste. Itâs not there. I pat around the counter. My chest seems to fill with steam as I come up empty, again and again.
Grammieâs onto me now. She keeps moving things. Not just a little, but someplace ridiculous, so Iâll be forced to look before I find it.
I lean against the counter, hating her.
Twice now Iâve covered the bathroom mirror with brown paper, but Grammie wonât let me keep it up. She spreads her tiny toes on the tile and stretches up to tear it down, piece by piece. I donât like the way she looks at me after the fact. Like Iâm not good enough, or brave enough, to see the truth when itâs in front of my face.
She doesnât understand.
I open my eyes, glancing everywhere but straight in front of me. The toothpaste is planted nose down in the Kleenex box. Gee, why didnât I think of that?
When Iâm done brushing, thereâs nothing left to do but check my work.
Eyes, teeth, hair. Fine? Good.
I close my eyes again, but not for long. The damage is done. The girl in the mirror looks back at me. Curious. Sad. Ugly.
I get why people stare. Itâs like the train wreck: You donât really want to look, and you know you shouldnât, but you just canât help it.
I take a deep breath as I step into the hallway.
There are these moments, see, when Iâm far away from anything reflective, when Iâm caught up in whatever Iâm caught up in, and I feel myself smile, and I imagine someone seeing me and liking what they see.
CHAPTER 5
W hen itâs just the two of us, Grammie listens to NPR morning talk radio. I try to tune out the yammering as I drag my backpack into the kitchen and slump at the table. Grammieâs sitting with a short stack of cash, a tall pile
Grammie just laughs. âHuh. I wiped your bottom, missy. You think you can scare me off with a little saliva?â But she lets me go.
I hide my face in my arms. âWell, it was worth a try.â
Grammie smooths her hand down the part between my braids. She rubs my neck. âDonât let them get to you.â
I roll my head to the side. âWho?â
My innocent expression needs some work, apparently. Grammie shoots me a knowing look. âWhoeverâs getting to you.â
âIâm fine, Grammie.â
âOh, youâre just asking for the hair, now.â Grammie has a fantastic head of bushy white hair, and she will shake it in my face to make a point from time to time.
She grabs my shoulders with both hands and lets it fly. I slam my eyes shut. Itâs like being whacked with a feather duster, and she smells like Pert Plus. Strands fly up my nose and into my mouth, but by the time sheâs done, Iâm laughing.
Still, Iâve never been so glad to hear the doorbell ring.It chimes at the exact same moment the egg timer goes off. Grammie snatches up the money and marches to the door.
I lose my bets.
CHAPTER 4
I dread this part of the day. itâs early morning and Iâm still in bed, but Iâve been awake long enough that I have to pee. Itâs time to get ready for school. Covers off, feet on the cool ground, scurry to the bathroom. Eyes on the floor all the way.
I can pee with my eyes closed. Iâm not super proud of that or anything; Iâm just stating a fact. I can do most bathroom things with my eyes closed. Wash my hands, wash my face, brush my teeth, floss. I can comb and braid my hair by feel.
After the fact, I canât be sure. Did I get all the drool stains from the corner of my mouth? Any leftover eye crust? A stowaway piece of spinach in my teeth? A flyaway chunk of hair?
I have to open my eyes. Just for a second, just to check. Just long enough to ruin my day.
Eyes closed, I flush the toilet and glide my way to the sink. The faucet handle is where it always is. So is the soap. I wash my hands and face, then grab for my toothbrush.
Eyes closed, I fumble for the toothpaste. Itâs not there. I pat around the counter. My chest seems to fill with steam as I come up empty, again and again.
Grammieâs onto me now. She keeps moving things. Not just a little, but someplace ridiculous, so Iâll be forced to look before I find it.
I lean against the counter, hating her.
Twice now Iâve covered the bathroom mirror with brown paper, but Grammie wonât let me keep it up. She spreads her tiny toes on the tile and stretches up to tear it down, piece by piece. I donât like the way she looks at me after the fact. Like Iâm not good enough, or brave enough, to see the truth when itâs in front of my face.
She doesnât understand.
I open my eyes, glancing everywhere but straight in front of me. The toothpaste is planted nose down in the Kleenex box. Gee, why didnât I think of that?
When Iâm done brushing, thereâs nothing left to do but check my work.
Eyes, teeth, hair. Fine? Good.
I close my eyes again, but not for long. The damage is done. The girl in the mirror looks back at me. Curious. Sad. Ugly.
I get why people stare. Itâs like the train wreck: You donât really want to look, and you know you shouldnât, but you just canât help it.
I take a deep breath as I step into the hallway.
There are these moments, see, when Iâm far away from anything reflective, when Iâm caught up in whatever Iâm caught up in, and I feel myself smile, and I imagine someone seeing me and liking what they see.
CHAPTER 5
W hen itâs just the two of us, Grammie listens to NPR morning talk radio. I try to tune out the yammering as I drag my backpack into the kitchen and slump at the table. Grammieâs sitting with a short stack of cash, a tall pile