go, Ivy. He probably thought Lennie was a great guy now, and I was a total bitch. I maneuvered my cart to face the exit. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Oh.” His voice was soft, almost sad. “Good-bye, then, Ivy Emerson.”
My eyes widened at his use of my full name, and the way he said it in that soft, low voice, at the realization that he knew my last name at all. “Bye!” I chirped.
I hurried to the checkout and loaded my potatoes on the conveyor belt. My fingers were shaking when I handed the coupon and six dollars to the cashier. She noticed and looked at me funny. I quickly grabbed my bags and ran out. Lennie was standing by my bike. He started wheeling it toward me.
I stormed over to him, piled the potatoes into the front basket, and snatched the handlebars away from him. All the maybe-he’s-not-so-bad feelings I’d been having since he rescued me by the side of the road had completely evaporated. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No, I . . .”
“Can you just leave me alone, please?”
I pedaled off and got about ten feet from where he was standing when one of the bags fell and broke open. Potatoes rolled across the asphalt. I jumped off to pick them up, but my bike didn’t have a kickstand and I couldn’t lay it down or the rest of the potatoes would spill.
Lennie watched it all without budging. When I whirled to see if he was going to help, he held his hands out by his sides, palms up. “You said to leave you alone.”
I got back on my bike, tears stinging my eyes, and rode off—leaving the potatoes scattered across the parking lot.
THIRTEEN
“W here’s Mom?” I leaned the bike against the side of the house and lugged the bags of potatoes toward the back stairs, where the twins squatted with their sticks. It was rare to see Brady unsupervised, because wandering off was a constant worry. He’d collected an impressive pile of gravel that had migrated all the way to the backyard.
“Upstairs,” said Kaya. She pointed to the first-floor apartment. “Miss Carla is watching us. She went in there.”
“Then she’s not watching you, is she?” I shifted my lopsided load of potatoes, my shoulders aching under their weight.
Kaya silently mimicked my grumpy remark. I made like I was going to swing an armload of potatoes at her and she ducked.
I hadn’t really spoken to Carla since we’d moved in. I knew what kind of underwear she wore, however, because she hung it to dry on a line out back. When she emerged from the house, I was struck by her style, which did not scream “Lakeside landlady.” She was tall and fit and slender, with dark, spiky hair thatshimmered with a hint of deep purple highlights. She wore silver hoops in her ears and a vibrant blue scarf over a simple white blouse, jeans, and black boots.
I looked down at my drab hoodie and jeans and felt underdressed.
“Hello, Ivy.” She spoke with the slightest tinge of a Spanish accent. “Did you have a nice day at school?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
She held out a plate. “Cookie?”
“No, thank you.” My arms were about to fall off. “I’m just going to put these away.”
I climbed the stairs, let myself in our back door, and dropped the potatoes on the kitchen counter. Mom was in the shower, I could tell, thanks to the high-pitched whine that reverberated through the pipes. I peered between the kitchen blinds to make sure Carla wasn’t ignoring the twins out there again. She had placed the cookies on a small plastic table and was pouring glasses of a bright-orange liquid from a pitcher. The twins gobbled and gulped, wet orange mustaches curling up around their lips. I had a feeling it wasn’t the organic, all-natural juice my mother used to buy for us.
Plopping on the couch, I let my head fall back to stare at the ceiling. It was that kind of ceiling that looked like stucco. It hid cracks and flaws but was impossible to clean. You could see where someone had tried and rubbed off a section of the nubby surface.
My
“Oh.” His voice was soft, almost sad. “Good-bye, then, Ivy Emerson.”
My eyes widened at his use of my full name, and the way he said it in that soft, low voice, at the realization that he knew my last name at all. “Bye!” I chirped.
I hurried to the checkout and loaded my potatoes on the conveyor belt. My fingers were shaking when I handed the coupon and six dollars to the cashier. She noticed and looked at me funny. I quickly grabbed my bags and ran out. Lennie was standing by my bike. He started wheeling it toward me.
I stormed over to him, piled the potatoes into the front basket, and snatched the handlebars away from him. All the maybe-he’s-not-so-bad feelings I’d been having since he rescued me by the side of the road had completely evaporated. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No, I . . .”
“Can you just leave me alone, please?”
I pedaled off and got about ten feet from where he was standing when one of the bags fell and broke open. Potatoes rolled across the asphalt. I jumped off to pick them up, but my bike didn’t have a kickstand and I couldn’t lay it down or the rest of the potatoes would spill.
Lennie watched it all without budging. When I whirled to see if he was going to help, he held his hands out by his sides, palms up. “You said to leave you alone.”
I got back on my bike, tears stinging my eyes, and rode off—leaving the potatoes scattered across the parking lot.
THIRTEEN
“W here’s Mom?” I leaned the bike against the side of the house and lugged the bags of potatoes toward the back stairs, where the twins squatted with their sticks. It was rare to see Brady unsupervised, because wandering off was a constant worry. He’d collected an impressive pile of gravel that had migrated all the way to the backyard.
“Upstairs,” said Kaya. She pointed to the first-floor apartment. “Miss Carla is watching us. She went in there.”
“Then she’s not watching you, is she?” I shifted my lopsided load of potatoes, my shoulders aching under their weight.
Kaya silently mimicked my grumpy remark. I made like I was going to swing an armload of potatoes at her and she ducked.
I hadn’t really spoken to Carla since we’d moved in. I knew what kind of underwear she wore, however, because she hung it to dry on a line out back. When she emerged from the house, I was struck by her style, which did not scream “Lakeside landlady.” She was tall and fit and slender, with dark, spiky hair thatshimmered with a hint of deep purple highlights. She wore silver hoops in her ears and a vibrant blue scarf over a simple white blouse, jeans, and black boots.
I looked down at my drab hoodie and jeans and felt underdressed.
“Hello, Ivy.” She spoke with the slightest tinge of a Spanish accent. “Did you have a nice day at school?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
She held out a plate. “Cookie?”
“No, thank you.” My arms were about to fall off. “I’m just going to put these away.”
I climbed the stairs, let myself in our back door, and dropped the potatoes on the kitchen counter. Mom was in the shower, I could tell, thanks to the high-pitched whine that reverberated through the pipes. I peered between the kitchen blinds to make sure Carla wasn’t ignoring the twins out there again. She had placed the cookies on a small plastic table and was pouring glasses of a bright-orange liquid from a pitcher. The twins gobbled and gulped, wet orange mustaches curling up around their lips. I had a feeling it wasn’t the organic, all-natural juice my mother used to buy for us.
Plopping on the couch, I let my head fall back to stare at the ceiling. It was that kind of ceiling that looked like stucco. It hid cracks and flaws but was impossible to clean. You could see where someone had tried and rubbed off a section of the nubby surface.
My
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