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find a spot where the metal bits don’t jab me. I toss and turn. I can’t shut my brain off. I roll over on my stomach, and these are some of the crazy thoughts leaping around in my head like jumping beans:
    Will nasty Barbara Porter be in my class next year?
    Is it against the law to throw Granny’s ashes off the Empire State Building?
    Can you be a war hero if you die of food poisoning?
    I flip onto my back and kick at the sheet twisted around my ankles.
    Will Mom remember that it’s my birthday tomorrow?
    What’s in that big brown envelope?

Chapter Twelve
    I sleep in, and for once Mom is up before me. She’s in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes, which I didn’t even know she knew how to make. On the table there are four small identical oblong presents wrapped in old wrinkled Christmas paper. Not big enough to be roller skates or a radio. Anyway, I know what they are. I can tell by the shape. Books.
    â€œHappy birthday, eleven-year-old,” Mom says.
    I burst into noisy sobs. She drops her spoon and sweeps me into her arms. “What ever is the matter?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I blubber into her nightie.
    How can I tell her that she scared me last night? And that I thought we were going to be rich and now we’re not? And that for once I hoped I might get a surprise for my birthday? It makes me look like a horrible person.
    I sniff and wipe my eyes and say, “Can I open my presents before I eat?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Four Nancy Drew books – The Secret of the Wooden Lady, The Clue of the Black Keys, The Mystery at the Ski Jump, and The Clue of the Velvet Mask – and they’re brand-new!
    â€œPerfect, Mom.” I really mean it.
    I prop the books up around me while I eat my pancakes. “Can we go out for dinner?”
    She doesn’t say anything.
    Cripes. Now I feel guilty because she’s spent a lot of money on all these books.
    â€œI thought I’d cook us a steak for a treat,” she says finally. “I picked one up yesterday.”
    â€œGreat,” I say, but I don’t think I fooled her.
    â€œBut I don’t think I can cope with a cake.” She pushes her hair off her face. She looks wiped and there’s a smear of blueberry on her nose. “I’m not really a baker and store-bought ones cost…”
    Mom’s voice trails off. It was always Granny who made my cake. Every year was different. My favorite one had a little swimming pool, made out of a tin-foil bowl and blue Jell-O, right in the middle of the cake! I don’t want a cake anyway, not without Granny to watch me blow out my candles.
    I rinse my syrupy plate under the tap, but Mom says, “Get away from here. No dishes for the birthday girl.”
    She reaches for her purse and gives me twenty-five cents for public swimming at the community center.
    I’d like enough money for a pop and fries after my swim, but I don’t ask.

    â€¢ • • • •

    Mom and I leave the apartment together after lunch. She has an interview at the Hudson’s Bay store downtown to be an elevator operator.
    I try to keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help it. “Don’t you think you should dress up a bit more?”
    She’s wearing an old gray skirt and a white blouse, and she’s put on her cherry lipstick but no other makeup. An elevator operator should look glamorous. I remember when she went for the store clerk interview and Granny said she looked like a million dollars.
    Mom sighs. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m not going to get the job anyway.”
    As we wait at the bus stop, I say in this goofy singsong voice, “Fourth floor, ladies lingerie…fifth floor, men’s shoes.” All I get out of her is a tiny smile.
    Mom catches the bus right before mine. I climb onto number 12, which will take me to the community center in the neighborhood where we were living last summer. There’s