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“Wish three,” she whispered, while plugging her fingers into her ears. “Have no mean brothers for my daughter.”
    â€œHey brat! I’m talking to you,” he persisted. “Did Mom say you could eat those cookies before dinner? Did she? I’m talking to you! Answer me!”
    â€œI’m telling,” said her other brother. And then they sing-songed in unison “I’m telling, I’m telling…”
    But Joy was no longer threatened by their “telling” because by the time they could tell, it was way past their bedtime and they were fast asleep. Joy would force herself to stay awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling that formed the shape of an elephant’s trunk, waiting until Alice, opened the door. That’s when Joy squeezed her eyes shut, mimicking sleep as Alice bent down to kiss her forehead. The scent of Coty’s Sweet Earth lingered in Joy’s nostrils long after her mother had left the room.
    Saturdays were special because at her father’s insistence, Joy was always included in the neighborhood game of “Red light, Green light.” When it came to Red light, Green light, Joy may have been chubby, but
man
she could hold a locked pose, suspending one limb in the air like a cat burglar caught in a flashlight shadow. When her brother said “Green light!” to go, she could feel the finish line of his left arm and breathlessly tapped him on the shoulder. But then he turned to her, narrowed his eyes and announced, “No way you’re it. I saw you move on that last red light.”
    â€œDid not!” she insisted.
    â€œDid too!”
    â€œDid not!”
    â€œGo back to the beginning of the line Fatty Patty.”
    â€œWill not!”
    â€œThen you’re out for good. Go home, Fatty Patty.”
    And then the other kids chimed in with “Fatty Patty” too. Joy hung her head low and went back to the starting point. “I’m not Fatty Patty,” she’d murmur under her breath. My name is Joy.”
    â€œI know that,” whispered Georgey Pfeifer, “I saw you didn’t move. You
didn’t
move.”
    â€œI know,” said Joy, grateful for just an ounce of validation.
    â€œRed Rover, Red Rover send…” anybody but Joy over. After a while, never chosen, she would slink back to her house. Georgey would call out “Hey Joy, where ya going?” but she pretended not to hear, instead heading straight for the kitchen. Nothing that a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies or a scoop of Harlequin ice cream couldn’t cure…
    It was from the pantry, during another snack-food binge, that Joy heard the slam of the backdoor screen and the sound of her mother dropping car keys on the counter. Joy rose from the floor and glanced out to see Alice facing the cupboard. Mechanically, her mother grabbed the scouring pad and flipped up the faucet handle. She scrubbed madly at the casserole dish crusted with last night’s potatoes au gratin.
    â€œMommy? Mommy, you’re home!” But Alice didn’t turn around. As Joy approached her mother’s side, she just scrubbed even harder. “Mommy? Mommy, what’s wrong?”
    Alice dropped the soapy dish—spelled with a “y” not an “ey,” thought Joy despite herself—and watched her mother grip the side of the curling linoleum counter.
    â€œYou go outside and play, honey.” said Alice.
    â€œBut they’re mean.” said Joy, circling around to see tears streaming down Alice’s face.
    Joy sat on the edge of the hospital bed watching a clear tube dripping life into her father’s arm. Her brothers were lined against the drab hospital wall in a long row of silence. She knew it was serious.
    â€œYour father was doing a very brave thing,” explained Alice rubbing at her husband’s head. “He was trying to protect that woman.”
    A chaos of questions flooded the room. “When