behind her back with one hand. “Kit Cordelle aka the Bludgeoner.”
“Bludgeoner. Bonesaw Killer.” Fancy fished a wet wipe from her pocket, pushed back the newsboy cap, and cleaned Kit’s face, scrubbing harder than necessary. “I ain’t gone let you follow in Daddy’s footsteps.”
Kit dodged the wet wipe long enough to take a bite of her snow cone. “I guess I am too pretty for jail.”
“You didn’t have to send me away like that.”
“I thought . . . maybe you didn’t like seeing me go to work on people.” Kit looked down. “Like maybe you don’t like that side of me.”
Fancy studied Kit’s blood-free face and shoved the wet wipe back in her pocket.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kit. I like violence just as much as the next person.” She thought of the Turner brothers and their horrible relationship and hugged Kit tight.
“And I like
you
. Just the way you are.”
FROM FANCY’S DREAM DIARY:
T HAT CHUBBY-CHEEKED BOY I HAD A CRUSH ON IN KINDERGARTEN ASKED ME AND K IT IF WE WANTED TO GO ON A DATE; HE DIDN’T CARE WHICH ONE OF US. W E SAID WE’D BOTH GO OUT WITH HIM BUT WE HAD TO CHANGE FIRST. S O HE FOLLOWED US HOME AND WAITED WHILE WE WENT IN THE HOUSE AND CHANGED, BUT WHEN WE MET HIM OUTSIDE IN THE GARDEN WEARING NOTHING BUT OUR SKELETONS, HE RAN AWAY SCREAMING.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sisters sat in Madda’s car on Seventh Street before one of the tall, skinny houses that adorned the streets near Fountain Square, a white one with an orange-sorbet trim.
Madda craned her neck and frowned at her daughters slumped miserably in the backseat of her Honda. “What’re y’all waiting for?”
“You to come to your senses,” Kit cried, “and rescue us from this scam!”
“What this is,” Madda said, “is a sweet, elderly woman named Annice who’s gone blind and needs help. Not a scam.”
“Why do we have to do some old lady’s chores? Nobody ever does
our
chores.”
“Yeah,” said Fancy. “Can’t we just chip in and buy her a maid?”
“This is about being a good neighbor, not throwing money at a problem to make it go away.”
“She ain’t
my
neighbor.” “She’s a fellow Porterene, Kit, and that makes her your neighbor. Look!” Madda pointed out of the car window. “Everybody’s pitching in.” The old lady herself sat in a rocking chair on her stoop as people filed into her house or worked industriously outside of it weeding flower beds, painting the shutters, and washing the windows.
“This is how people behave in a community,” Madda said, staring gravely at her daughters. “They help each other.”
“Help schmelp. Just because they’re all jumping off a bridge doesn’t mean we—”
The stern expression on Madda’s face silenced the rest of Kit’s griping and sent the sisters scrambling out of the car. The heat was miserable after the coolness of Madda’s Honda.
“I’ll be at the Super Seven,” she said. “While I’m in there, I’ll pick us up some empty bottles for the ceremony. Pink ones, if they have any.”
“You’re not coming in with us?”
“You can’t hide behind me your whole life, Fancy. Now go on. And be nice!”
After Madda drove off, Kit took Fancy’s hand and led her up the old woman’s stoop. Fancy couldn’t remember what Madda had called her. She smelled unpleasantly fruity, like the statice Madda grew in the backyard, straddling the thin line between overripe and rotten.
“Hey, Miz Annice,” said Kit. Kit always remembered people.
“Hay is for horses, child,” croaked Miz Annice, but she was smiling. She wore a muumuu and slippers and thick black sunglasses like she secretly wanted to be cool. “You here to help ole Miz Annice?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kit. “Just tell us what you need, because we
live
to serve others.”
“That refrigerator of mine needs a good cleaning.”
“Then will you make us the happiest children in creation and allow us to clean it for you?”
Miz Annice reached out, and when she
“Bludgeoner. Bonesaw Killer.” Fancy fished a wet wipe from her pocket, pushed back the newsboy cap, and cleaned Kit’s face, scrubbing harder than necessary. “I ain’t gone let you follow in Daddy’s footsteps.”
Kit dodged the wet wipe long enough to take a bite of her snow cone. “I guess I am too pretty for jail.”
“You didn’t have to send me away like that.”
“I thought . . . maybe you didn’t like seeing me go to work on people.” Kit looked down. “Like maybe you don’t like that side of me.”
Fancy studied Kit’s blood-free face and shoved the wet wipe back in her pocket.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kit. I like violence just as much as the next person.” She thought of the Turner brothers and their horrible relationship and hugged Kit tight.
“And I like
you
. Just the way you are.”
FROM FANCY’S DREAM DIARY:
T HAT CHUBBY-CHEEKED BOY I HAD A CRUSH ON IN KINDERGARTEN ASKED ME AND K IT IF WE WANTED TO GO ON A DATE; HE DIDN’T CARE WHICH ONE OF US. W E SAID WE’D BOTH GO OUT WITH HIM BUT WE HAD TO CHANGE FIRST. S O HE FOLLOWED US HOME AND WAITED WHILE WE WENT IN THE HOUSE AND CHANGED, BUT WHEN WE MET HIM OUTSIDE IN THE GARDEN WEARING NOTHING BUT OUR SKELETONS, HE RAN AWAY SCREAMING.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sisters sat in Madda’s car on Seventh Street before one of the tall, skinny houses that adorned the streets near Fountain Square, a white one with an orange-sorbet trim.
Madda craned her neck and frowned at her daughters slumped miserably in the backseat of her Honda. “What’re y’all waiting for?”
“You to come to your senses,” Kit cried, “and rescue us from this scam!”
“What this is,” Madda said, “is a sweet, elderly woman named Annice who’s gone blind and needs help. Not a scam.”
“Why do we have to do some old lady’s chores? Nobody ever does
our
chores.”
“Yeah,” said Fancy. “Can’t we just chip in and buy her a maid?”
“This is about being a good neighbor, not throwing money at a problem to make it go away.”
“She ain’t
my
neighbor.” “She’s a fellow Porterene, Kit, and that makes her your neighbor. Look!” Madda pointed out of the car window. “Everybody’s pitching in.” The old lady herself sat in a rocking chair on her stoop as people filed into her house or worked industriously outside of it weeding flower beds, painting the shutters, and washing the windows.
“This is how people behave in a community,” Madda said, staring gravely at her daughters. “They help each other.”
“Help schmelp. Just because they’re all jumping off a bridge doesn’t mean we—”
The stern expression on Madda’s face silenced the rest of Kit’s griping and sent the sisters scrambling out of the car. The heat was miserable after the coolness of Madda’s Honda.
“I’ll be at the Super Seven,” she said. “While I’m in there, I’ll pick us up some empty bottles for the ceremony. Pink ones, if they have any.”
“You’re not coming in with us?”
“You can’t hide behind me your whole life, Fancy. Now go on. And be nice!”
After Madda drove off, Kit took Fancy’s hand and led her up the old woman’s stoop. Fancy couldn’t remember what Madda had called her. She smelled unpleasantly fruity, like the statice Madda grew in the backyard, straddling the thin line between overripe and rotten.
“Hey, Miz Annice,” said Kit. Kit always remembered people.
“Hay is for horses, child,” croaked Miz Annice, but she was smiling. She wore a muumuu and slippers and thick black sunglasses like she secretly wanted to be cool. “You here to help ole Miz Annice?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kit. “Just tell us what you need, because we
live
to serve others.”
“That refrigerator of mine needs a good cleaning.”
“Then will you make us the happiest children in creation and allow us to clean it for you?”
Miz Annice reached out, and when she
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