l

ple had to say when they raised their hands, but I spent most of the class thinking about my plans for the night. I have to sneak out. I've

iculous it seems. Am I really going to sneak out to Staten Island to sell my

y. An older man with a bottle clasped in a brown paper bag shoos away pigeons collecting in fron

en watch me in the restaurant. I still have goose bumps, and it's a little unnerving to be watched no matter what, but it's more like...when Mama used to stand in the door until I'd cross

Fridays. There's too much money to be made off drunk people stumbling in, starving and willing to buy anything you so much as mention. I open the do

oor is slightly ajar, and I can hear voices within. My stomach jumps like I misse

a soft voice I know means she's trying to make sure I

ime I served him, tipped well, and hasn't come back since. And sometimes, they still treat me like the youngest daughter, the little treasure they have to protect from the w

y view of him. On the counter ne

asked. "Let him have what he wants? Is that

gasp. Sell me? That has to mean Frank wa

aggravated him so." Mama steps aside to grab ice

osed it with a few spidering black stitches. He looks like he's been in a fight with a brick wall. Or Frank Lombardi, a man with as much grace and tact as one. A de

w and turn to go back down the stairs and pretend like I've just come in now. I ne

ry his Luca? I can't imagine it. I can't imagine a man who thinks children are things to be sol

estaurant in a while, but I didn't remember a time he'd been in and not tried to touch me. My anger burned brighter. Frank shoul

ing you alone

s, then stomp back up them.

e counter, and Baba has disappeared with them. Mama stands alone in the kitchen,

to scare you. We just got tired and decided to close

I've never lied to my mom before. I've ne

as I cross the room to her and hold my hand

he towel. "You are too good to us. Tel

wel. A little bit of bright red blood stains the blue-and-white checks, and that hot anger kindles i