Harry Sue by Sue Stauffacher Page A

board, I thought of something else that troubled me.
    “Why would you think she's in Wisconsin? She wasn't distributing across state lines, so it's not a federal crime. She's somewhere in Michigan, Homer, I just know it.”
    “You don't think conettes have friends? You don't think their hacks know hacks in Michigan? I bet they even go to the same conferences.”
    “But what are you driving at?”
    Homer rolled his eyes. “My mom left it behind the Kleenex box. It's a good thing she tucked it away or that J-Cat might have stomped on it.”
    I fit my hand behind the Kleenex box and pulled out the Dinkins family cell phone.
    “You want me to …”
    “It's got to be you, Harry Sue. Number's taped to the back.”
    I turned the phone over. There it was, in Mrs. Dinkins's crabbed handwriting on a torn scrap of blue-lined notepaper. The 800 number for the Wisconsin State Lottery.
    Of course it had to be me. I mean, Homer couldn't even pick up the phone to dial.
    But what exactly was I doing?
    I looked at Homer's excited face and realized that if I didn't get excited with him, I was gonna burn the spot. And I realized this was as much about Homer as it was about me. He was trying to have my back the only way left to him, by bringing me my Mary Bell. When I looked at it that way, I thought what was so wrong with asking for a little information?
    I pressed the numbers in and waited. First thing I heard was music. Happy orchestra music. Soaring trombones. Big drums. It was music for winners, I realized. Music to get you in the mood.
    “Welcome to the Wisconsin State Lottery,” a nice voice said. “Please pay attention, as the following menu selections have changed. For English, press one.
Para español, dos.
”
    Homer's eyebrows were raised. He wanted the play-by-play.
    “I chose English.”
    The nice voice came back on. “To order the Daily Dole, press one. To order the Instant Millionaire, press two. To check the winning numbers for a previous date, press three….” I listened to the whole menu, but it wasn't until after “To repeat the selection process, press eight” that I heard the one I wanted.
    “To speak to a customer service representative, press nine.”
    A tight band pressed around my chest. There was a clicking noise and I heard the soothing lady come back on. She said, “Connecting to an operator. Your call may be monitored to ensure quality service.”
    “They're connecting me,” I told Homer.
    “Jeez, it takes long enough.” He'd been straining in his bed for so long he had to relax back onto his pillows.
    I started to ask him just what I was supposed to say, expecting more music or the nice lady or just waiting. But I heard another voice, a real voice I had to strain to understand because she spoke with a heavy accent.
    “Welcome to the Wisconsin State Lottery,” she said. “My name is Consuela. How may I help you?”
    “Uh …” I looked at Homer helplessly. Was I really supposed to spill my guts?
    “Yes?” the voice with the name Consuela said.
    “Consuela, are you … do you … ?”
    “Are you having some trouble with the system?” Consuela prompted.
    It took me a second to figure out what she said because it sounded like “see-stem.”
    “It's just …” I glanced helplessly at Homer, who was mouthing the word “mom.”
    “I'm looking for my mom,” I said in a rush. “She's a conette.”
    There was a long pause.
“Dios mio,”
Consuela said. Then the clicking noise. Then the nice lady. “If you feel you have reached this number in error …”
    I pressed the “end” button on the phone.
    “What? What?” Homer asked, all excited. He was using his shoulder to get a little leverage, bouncing his head back and forth. It was how he underlined his words. How he said,
I really want this!
    “She hung up on me,” I said.
    Homer made me repeat the conversation word for word, including all the selection options.
    “Dios mio,”
he said slowly. “That means ‘my God.’”
    He