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living room, and
walk into the kitchen.
    Kenny sits at one end of the table,
sipping brown liquid from a shot glass.
    “ Sit here, Shawna.” Kay
pulls out a chair and then sits at the other end of the table
opposite Kenny.
    Under each plate there’s a mat, and
next to the fork and knife, a napkin made out of cloth, not paper.
How am I not going to leave grease marks on it?
    Kenny’s looking spiffy. Clean shirt,
hair slicked back, and . . . check out the hands. No horsy smell
anywhere.
    Kay looks neatened up too. Her shirt
is still plaid, but it’s not the same one she was cooking in
earlier. I’d be able to pick out her closet in a sec. Three hundred
plaid shirts, starched, the collars all facing the same direction
on the hangers.
    A heaped bowl of fluffy white potatoes
sits in the center of the table, and steak sliced and soaking in
juice is on a platter next to it. There’s lettuce and tomatoes
tossed into a salad.
    I’m reaching for the potatoes when Kay
says, “I’ll pass them to you.”
    “ Whatever.” I help myself to
two big plops and set the bowl down.
    “ Please pass them on to
Kenny.”
    What? Am I playing
football? Pass. Pass. Pass. When do I get to like . . .
eat?
    I pick up my fork. The steak’s coming
my way. I put down my fork, take the platter and . . . “I know.
Pass.”
    Kay doesn’t smile. I don’t think
that’s something she does.
    “ Can I eat now?”
    Kay presses her lips together like
she’s going to say something starting with M. Then she switches and
says, “Salad,” handing me the bowl of tossed greens.
    I’m a quick learner, so I pass the
salad to Kenny; then I sit back and fold my arms.
    Kay snaps her napkin and lays it
across her lap.
    Okay. I get it. I do the
same.
    She picks up her fork and waggles it
in the air. “Now,” she says.
    Finally .
    Kenny starts in about the gray, her
temperature, her meds. I’m swallowing, not sure I’ve chewed much
before I do. This is not ketchup soup or Wong’s takeout or even
Kirby’s special deluxe grease.
    The potatoes don’t taste
like any potatoes I’ve ever eaten before. Where did they come from?
The tomatoes—my gawd—they’re red candy. Can I have more?
    Kay is holding the salad out
to me. I guess the answer is yes, I can have more. And now passing is not a problem.
I’ve got that down, along with how Kay likes to be the queen at the
dinner table. There are rules here, too. Like napkins and passing
and waiting until the right time to eat. User Manual Entry #4: Play
the Queen’s Rules at Dinner.
     

Chapter 10
    Shawna
     
    “ You wear plaid. I don’t.” I
stand inside the small dressing room cubicle, my arms crossed and
my jaw set.
    I’d said no to everything the clerk
and Kay had brought in for me to try.
    “ Then get dressed and come
out here and look yourself,” Kay says.
    “ There’s nothing in this
crappy store that I’d be caught dead in.”
    Kay waves the clerk out and waits in
the doorway. “Fine. Then we’ll go someplace else.” She yanks the
curtain closed. “I’ll meet you outside.”
    “ There’s nothing in this
whole friggin’ town that I’d be caught dead in,” I say loud enough
for anyone in the store to hear. I pull my Bad Ass Attitude shirt
over my head and jam my feet into my shoes.
    On the way out, the two clerks look at
me and then away, like they don’t want me to see them seeing
me—like if our eyes locked, they’d have to sterilize their
eyeballs. They whisper behind me, sending little wis-wis sounds to
follow me outside.
    At the door, I turn around. “Hey,
Chicas!”I’
    ve got their attention. “Screw you!” I
tuck my hair behind my ears and slam the door behind me.
    Kay stands, leaning on her truck
fender. “Nice, Shawna.”
    “ I’m sick of this shopping
crap.”
    Kay arches her neck like her horses do
whenever they go ornery. Right now, her neck tells me I’m in for a
fight—one I’d lose. “Fine. You can wear my jeans and one of my
plaid shirts to school.”
    I