pulled us apart. Then, when Janine came back two weeks later, Crystal and I pretended it never even happened, just as Crystal and Janine pretended that I didn’t visit my father in prison, and Janine and I pretended we didn’t notice the burn marks covering Crystal’s legs from top to bottom.
“Here, I brought this from the room for you.” Janine handed me the picture I’d started the day before. Part of my puppy series, gold, black, and red ones. Janine and Crystal kept all our drawings and any other special things. Duffy had two Redbird rooms, and they were lucky enough to be in the one without Enid and Reetha.
“We only have about fifteen minutes,” Crystal warned. Crystal obeyed the Duffy rules as if she’d die if she even accidentally broke one.
I began slivering a little silver along the edges of a puppy. Not too much, since gold and silver crayons rarely appeared in the pickle jar, and I knew Crystal needed them for her castles.
The art door opened. We looked up, dreading company.
“Oh, look. Prison Girl’s back.” Reetha flounced in clutching a half-crayoned brown box.
Crystal put a protective arm over her paper. I nudged my puppies over to cover her castles.
“Why don’t you crawl back under your rock?” Janine said.
I sucked in my breath at her words. Reetha did remind me of a slug, all sweaty with a face like the goop around gefilte fish. Jagged pink lines on her forehead showed where her mother had scraped her against a wire fence.
“Why don’t you go eat shit?” Reetha reached over and grabbed the silver and gold crayons.
“Hey, we’re using those,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to snatch them out of her hand.
“Why don’t you have your grandma buy you some?” Reetha put her wormy face up to mine. “Look, Prison Girl! I found some new drawing paper. Maybe I’ll use it to line my box.”
I recognized the paper Reetha held, my father’s handwriting, the blurry Richmond County Correctional stamp.
“Dear Merry,” Reetha read aloud before I could grab the letter. “Grandma wrote me you got an A on your spelling test. Congratulations, Sugar Pop!”
Crystal tore the paper from Reetha, leaving Reetha with a scrap corner of the letter.
“Oh, it’s torn,” Reetha said. “Don’t cry, Sugar Pop! So, how bad was your mother that your father had to kill her? Was she a whore?”
Janine got between us. “How ugly were you that your mother named you Urethra?”
“My name is
Reetha
.”
I grabbed at the crayons she’d snatched. She screwed up her face to bite my hand, but I held on to the waxy tips anyway, tired of losing stuff to her. She clamped down on the tip of my thumb.
“Ow!” I screamed, letting go of the crayons.
“Retard,” Janine said.
“Wino,” Reetha screamed back as she grabbed the violet and red crayons next to Crystal. I hated her. I hated her so much I could have grabbed the scissors from the pickle container and shoved them in her throat.
“Ugly scar-face,” I yelled. “Everyone hates you.”
The next day I woke up with the kind of bad feeling you get when something is wrong, but you don’t know what. It was seven-thirty on Sunday morning, and breakfast was in half an hour. Sunday’s breakfast was the best meal of the entire week. Pancakes, three each.
I ran my finger along my chest. The smell of shampoo from my previous night’s shower hung in the air. I reached up to fluff out my hair from the ponytail in which I’d slept.
My ponytail was gone. A short, bristly stump stuck out from the rubber band.
I tried not to cry, not to show anything, because crying only made things worse at Duffy. I tasted the tears in my throat. I touched my head again, patting the stump where my long ponytail had been.
Reetha smiled from her bed. I dug my nails deep into my palms. Enid sat cross-legged on the floor—probably looking for crumbs to eat, the porky pig.
Everyone in the room stayed silent.
“What’s the matter?” Reetha asked. “Crybaby
“Here, I brought this from the room for you.” Janine handed me the picture I’d started the day before. Part of my puppy series, gold, black, and red ones. Janine and Crystal kept all our drawings and any other special things. Duffy had two Redbird rooms, and they were lucky enough to be in the one without Enid and Reetha.
“We only have about fifteen minutes,” Crystal warned. Crystal obeyed the Duffy rules as if she’d die if she even accidentally broke one.
I began slivering a little silver along the edges of a puppy. Not too much, since gold and silver crayons rarely appeared in the pickle jar, and I knew Crystal needed them for her castles.
The art door opened. We looked up, dreading company.
“Oh, look. Prison Girl’s back.” Reetha flounced in clutching a half-crayoned brown box.
Crystal put a protective arm over her paper. I nudged my puppies over to cover her castles.
“Why don’t you crawl back under your rock?” Janine said.
I sucked in my breath at her words. Reetha did remind me of a slug, all sweaty with a face like the goop around gefilte fish. Jagged pink lines on her forehead showed where her mother had scraped her against a wire fence.
“Why don’t you go eat shit?” Reetha reached over and grabbed the silver and gold crayons.
“Hey, we’re using those,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to snatch them out of her hand.
“Why don’t you have your grandma buy you some?” Reetha put her wormy face up to mine. “Look, Prison Girl! I found some new drawing paper. Maybe I’ll use it to line my box.”
I recognized the paper Reetha held, my father’s handwriting, the blurry Richmond County Correctional stamp.
“Dear Merry,” Reetha read aloud before I could grab the letter. “Grandma wrote me you got an A on your spelling test. Congratulations, Sugar Pop!”
Crystal tore the paper from Reetha, leaving Reetha with a scrap corner of the letter.
“Oh, it’s torn,” Reetha said. “Don’t cry, Sugar Pop! So, how bad was your mother that your father had to kill her? Was she a whore?”
Janine got between us. “How ugly were you that your mother named you Urethra?”
“My name is
Reetha
.”
I grabbed at the crayons she’d snatched. She screwed up her face to bite my hand, but I held on to the waxy tips anyway, tired of losing stuff to her. She clamped down on the tip of my thumb.
“Ow!” I screamed, letting go of the crayons.
“Retard,” Janine said.
“Wino,” Reetha screamed back as she grabbed the violet and red crayons next to Crystal. I hated her. I hated her so much I could have grabbed the scissors from the pickle container and shoved them in her throat.
“Ugly scar-face,” I yelled. “Everyone hates you.”
The next day I woke up with the kind of bad feeling you get when something is wrong, but you don’t know what. It was seven-thirty on Sunday morning, and breakfast was in half an hour. Sunday’s breakfast was the best meal of the entire week. Pancakes, three each.
I ran my finger along my chest. The smell of shampoo from my previous night’s shower hung in the air. I reached up to fluff out my hair from the ponytail in which I’d slept.
My ponytail was gone. A short, bristly stump stuck out from the rubber band.
I tried not to cry, not to show anything, because crying only made things worse at Duffy. I tasted the tears in my throat. I touched my head again, patting the stump where my long ponytail had been.
Reetha smiled from her bed. I dug my nails deep into my palms. Enid sat cross-legged on the floor—probably looking for crumbs to eat, the porky pig.
Everyone in the room stayed silent.
“What’s the matter?” Reetha asked. “Crybaby
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