12
There was wet pattering on the back windshield, and Mistie pulled the blanket away from one eye and looked at the glass. Thick streaks of ice were striking the window and sliding down like Daddy’s tobacco juice on the side of the refrigerator when he missed the can. Only Daddy’s tobacco juice wasn’t clear like the ice, it was brown. But it slid the same, not in a straight line but zig-zaggy, all the way down to the floor. Mistie had tried chewing tobacco one time. Her Daddy said it’d be good for her since it was a vegetable and kids should like vegetables. She didn’t like it and gagged, so he’d made her swallow it all down.
“That’ll show you,” he’d said.
Mistie’s stomach growled and she pushed her knuckles into in until it stopped. She burped. She wondered where the teacher was taking her. Maybe to a carnival. Maybe to Wal-Mart. They had balloons at Wal-Mart, and ice cream. Princess Silverlace liked strawberry ice cream the best.
She put her finger into her nose and pulled out a dry crust. She stared at it, and then said, “Mama had a baby and its head popped off.” She flicked the crust out from beneath the blanket and onto the floor. She wished the teacher would hurry up.
And then the front door popped open and she could smell the teacher’s hand lotion before she heard the teacher’s seat squeak beneath her.