Page 70 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

in the mall. The bun place had told her she was underqualified.
To bake pre-made cinnamon buns and make basic change.
In the post-Christmas retail slump, few Help Wanted signs
hung in store windows.
Now that she and Ash had no money, everything was
about money. Greta had rationed their last few tomatoes,
only to find one spotted with gray mold. She’d waited too
long. She felt sick, dropping it in the garbage can.

Then a woman came to their door looking for donations
for after-school programs for inner-city kids. She told Greta
everything a thirty-dollar monthly donation would provide,
and then talked the sum down as Greta politely declined
each time. Finally the woman asked, “What about a one-time
twenty-dollar donation?”
“I’m really sorry,” Greta had said, “but I can’t right now.” ADVANCE READING COPY

The woman left, looking at Greta like she was single-
handedly responsible for child poverty.
The school had handed out sheets outlining fees for the
second term, mostly for textbook rentals. Greta would take
math, social studies and French. She had been enrolled in
food studies too but had dropped it. It was unlikely any of
them would take that class, but dropping it meant a spare at
the end of the day. Quick exit. Three possible classes with
Dylan, Rachel or Matt. A roulette wheel spun in her head,

a ricocheting ball deciding her fate.

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