Rodent Read Free Page B

Evan.
    Mom’s in the kitchen, drying her damp hair with a towel, a ratty bathrobe stretched across her generous hips and chest. She smiles. I exhale.
    Maisie and Evan run to her. “My teacher let us use the paints!” Maisie says.
    “Patrick took the best truck.” Evan tugs on her terrycloth belt.
    As she starts to ask them about their day, I say, “You’ll make them supper?” She nods. I grab a piece of bread and dash for the door. She calls me back.
    “What?” I say, sounding like a cat getting stepped on.
    She pushes her face close to mine—coffee breath this time. The skin around her light blue eyes is puffy, creased by crow’s-feet. She finger-combs her damp platinum hair, a shock of mousy regrowth at the roots.
    “Well,” she says, “how was your first day?”
    “Oh, fine. I got the classes I wanted.”
    “Good.” She brightens and shifts away. I feel a twinge of guilt. Just for one second.
    I say goodbye to Maisie and Evan and jog down to the convenience store right beside our apartment building. I started working there three weeks ago, just a few days a week. Two hours after school, during rush hour, before Mom leaves for her shift. I stock the shelves and clean up. They’ve started training me on the till too, except for lotto and cigarettes.
    Rupa’s at the counter. Her husband, Arif, is nowhere to be seen. Rupa’s all right, but Arif constantly scrutinizes me, peeking around chip displays. Like he expects to catch me shoplifting any second. Their son, Hasan, works there too sometimes. He’s eighteen and way too good-looking to be trusted. He smiles at me and volunteers for “training,” which usually prompts me to rearrange the cooler or reclean the bathroom. Something about his white teeth and dimples makes me start dropping things and tripping over my own feet.
    In a lull between customers, Rupa asks me about my first day of school. I smile, shrug and tell her it was good—everything oh-so-normal. I’d rather die than look this woman in the eye—her warm, open face—and tell her I’m one step away from foster care, homelessness or prison. Those kinds of conversations don’t exactly build employer-employee relationships. There’s something else about her too. Like, I could picture bringing her a test where I got an A and waving it around, like Maisie does with me and her drawings.
    Rupa has me stock the cooler and then asks me to find Arif to see what he wants done. I’m not surprised at all when he hands me a toilet brush and a pair of gloves and sends me to clean the bathroom. They must save this for me. I hang the Closed sign on the doorknob and get to work.
    I grit my teeth and scrub at the urinal. It looks like half the city passed through today and took turns missing. I consider putting a Cheerio in the bottom for aim, like I do for Evan. The toilet is even worse. By the time I finish it and haul out the garbage, which has a nasty diaper or two, I’m sweaty and in no mood for Hasan’s winning smiles. I barely say hello to him and ask Rupa if I can work the till for a while. She stands next to me, in case I get stuck. At the end of my shift, I buy a box of cereal to take home and a few five-cent sour candies for Maisie and Evan.
    I know as soon as I open the apartment door and see that Evan and Maisie have pulled out a box of crackers for supper, leaving a trail of crumbs between the kitchen and living room. The television is blaring.
    I don’t even know why I ask, “Where’s Mom?”
    “She’s sleeping,” Evan says slowly, knowing that for some reason this answer always makes me mad. Maisie just looks at me and waits.
    I storm into the kitchen and toss the bag with the cereal on the counter, tipping over a coffee mug, which smashes on the floor. I pick up one of the large pieces and hurl it into the sink, where it shatters into tiny shards. Evan begins to cry. Maisie stands still, watching me.
    Charging down the hall, I throw open the door and flick on the light. There