[Section opener]
Meg
Chapter 11
When I finish a gray bowl of oatmeal that could probably poison a person, I walk slow as I can
up to the office. Not only do I got to watch the rest go to the schoolroom to learn something, now
I got some woman sitting across my desk.
Miss Kay Upholstery two dollars . . . what is that for? Miss Birdie says this to the ledger.
I do not have any business with one Miss Kay Upholstery. I sit my rear down. At least it
is cooler in here this time of morning.
And this was . . . added wrong. She grabs my Pink Pearl eraser and erases, tosses it back
down. She has also skewed my row of pencils and scattered my View Day cards all in a mess. I
stack them back perfect and use the measuring stick to get it right.
And these are . . . what? She looks over her black reading glasses at me. Like she has
woke from a dream, she says, Morning, Meg.
Morning, Miss Birdie.
She is wearing another plain blue dress, this time with black buttons down the front
instead of white. This woman is not all stylish like her sister, the Asskisser, or as pretty. Miss
Birdie’s cheeks are the staying-red kind and not from something you buy at the store but like she
has just run a race. It is more of what you call a athletic look.
I try and draw her on a View Day card. The way her short brown hair runs a little crooked
across her forehead like maybe she cut it herself. Without a mirror. I give her slitted eyes for
sitting in here watching me and some pointy horns for spite. While I do, I pick up the faintest 130
