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240 pages, Paperback
First published January 15, 2013

'I cry. Right there with him inside me. I cry really hard so the snot runs out of my nose and I have to wipe it on my arm.'and the first thing you think is: snot on her arm, yuck gross! That's not exactly a normal reaction right? But I think I'm not a heartless witch after all, but it's just the writing style. I didn't feel a connection with Anna, I couldn't relate to her, I didn't even like her. Another thing that bothered me is how Anna is portrayed as a victim right from the start. Yeah Joey and Desmond use her, but isn't she doing the same thing? Using them to get rid of her lonely feeling for a while?
'I show him the room that used to be the family room.
“Where’s your real dad?'
'I show him what I look like without my shirt and how my bra attaches in the front. He spends a long time just holding and kissing my breasts, one by one, and saying, “Oh, oh, oh.'
Sometimes kids come into the cafe after school and sometimes I'm invisible to them. I want someone to ask me why I'm there. Why I'm not in school. I want someone to recognize that I'm a kid like they are.
And then Sam does.
I want to go back to the tell-me-again times when I slept in her bed and we were everything together. When I was everything to her. Everything she needed.
And then he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say he’ll miss me or that he’s sorry. Does he know he’s leaving me? That I’ll have to ride the bus home alone and come home alone and be home alone? They leave, I think, just like my mom says.
Toy is talking and this is why I love her. She can go on about herself ceaselessly and like the scratching of a branch against the window at night, the steady insistence of it is comforting. She has stories without beginnings, stories that trail off, stories that crisscross and contradict and dead end.
And the city. The city! Only a bus ride away and full of possibilities. We get dressed up and do our makeup. We go downtown and stand around. I belong here, I tell Toy. I’m hungry for every city block. Every brick building. Every crowded intersection. Electric. I feel brand new. My hair is shaggy and getting longer and I wear the wingtips with dresses from the forties and old-man cardigans. A broken leather belt knotted around my waist. Toy wears tunics over skinny jeans with high heels and thick socks. “The city will transform us,” I explain. “We’ll never be alone.”
My new window looks out at a brick wall and when it’s wet I’ll know it’s raining. I walk around the apartment touching the walls and hanging my clothes in the little closet. I buy blue paint. I wear the overalls that Toy and I bought at Salvation Army with a bandana over my hair and a thin white tank top underneath. I borrow a stepladder from the manager who says I have to paint the walls again when I leave. It’s the color of my dreams, I tell Toy in my head.
I’m in the kitchen eating cereal when my mom comes home. “Is that all you ever eat?” She stands in the doorway wearing a white linen jacket, her purse in one hand. She doesn’t sit down. She walks back into the kitchen and looks in the refrigerator. “You should go grocery shopping,” she says. And then she looks in her purse and pulls out two twenties. She’s wearing high-heeled burgundy shoes with straps around the ankle and there’s a streak of orangey makeup on her collar. I wonder if she’s getting old and if this is what it’s going to be like. Bits of her coming off on her clothes.