It's morning. I wake from a dream: jay at the window, black eye trained. It takes—off.
Under my blanket I am so warm and peaceful, a good girl. I am such a sweet girl, and warm too. I'm very good and kind and soft.
The door splits, hinges yip: my mother, hollering my name. I feign dead, sleep dead like a girl. She shakes these ragdoll shoulders. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Her eye is somewhere, don't wake for it.
At table, I dip my spoon into my milky bowl, wipe my milky chin, sprinkle berries with sugar. My brother has a gray eye, face turned. He snaps—I chew too loud.
On the bus, I march down aisle rearward. I take my seat, pick at a hole in the vinyl. My name, mid-volume. Yes? My name, volume. What? Giggles, whispers. I press my cheek to the window. A chill scurries my neck....
