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But I can tell her from the look on her face that she secretly likes the dress too. She shoves it onto the rack and follows her friend.
    When we get to the girls’ section, I see mothers with what must be their daughters combing through the racks. Some of the girls gush over items, while others stand bored and ready to leave. I’ve never been shopping before, and certainly not with my mother. The only clothes or shoes I remember getting are hand-me-downs, even though I had no idea who they were handed down from, and they were often ill-fitting and stained.
    Shelley is grabbing things left and right. She holds the items up to my chest to get a feel for my size. “How about this?” she asks. “Or what about this?”
    I don’t know what to say. To me, it is all beautiful. Everything looks so clean and perfect.
    In just over an hour, Shelley has bought me a dozen new outfits, socks, underwear, five pairs of pajamas, three pairs of shoes, and a jacket. She has also bought a bag of accessories: headbands, hair elastics, necklaces, and bracelets.
    She is practically giggling with excitement at purchasing all of this, while I stand in stunned silence at the checkout counter. I can’t wrap my mind around how much money this must have cost and how she hasn’t even blinked an eye. It’s hard to imagine that these things are for me.
    â€œIsn’t this fun?” she says to me. I give her a small smile, realizing that this is what other girls must do with their mothers. “Bernice, I hope you’re alright with this,” Shelley says, fumbling to hold all of the bags. “This will do for now, right?” she asks. She’s looking to me for reassurance as though I may feel differently. I’ve never owned this many beautiful things before. I’m not sure that I deserve them, or that I can accept them. We step onto the pavement of the parking lot and I follow her to the car.
    â€œIt’s all so amazing,” I manage to say, but then a giant sob wells in my throat and bursts through. I start crying uncontrollably. Shelley immediately gets down on her knees and envelopes me in a close hug.
    â€œOh, honey, it’s going to be alright,” she says gripping me tighter. I cry until I start to hiccup. Shelley pulls a tissue from her purse and helps me wipe my tears. “Let’s go home,” she says.
    I feel overwhelming gratitude for Shelley and what she’s already done for me. I put my hand in hers as we make our way through the parking lot, feeling like we could be like any regular mother and daughter, shopping and spending time together. Maybe Mrs. Duggleman was right. Maybe, just maybe, this could be home.

Chapter 7
    I t ’s Sunday afternoon at Haywood. That means we are usually gathered in the cafeteria room, playing cards or board games or doing homework in time for class on Monday. They call it “quiet time,” like we’re babies all over again. Lisa and I are playing a game of UNO, though neither of us is really into it.
    â€œDid you hear about Trina?” Lisa says, lowering her voice.
    â€œNo,” I reply.
    â€œShe’s leaving tonight. She’s not coming back.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I ask. “Where is she going?”
    Trina has hardly spoken to anyone since she’s been here. She hasn’t lost her trademark glare yet, either.
    â€œGirls, you should be going to talk to her,” Gertie had chided us. But each of us had been trying and she’d barely acknowledged us. What was the point? If she wanted to be like that, let her.
    Lisa leans in closer. “I heard her boyfriend is picking her up later tonight, but she’s not coming back in time for curfew.”
    â€œSo?” I say. She wouldn’t be the first to miss curfew around here. A lot of the girls couldn’t care less about curfew.
    â€œWe heard her talking on the phone this morning. I guess her boyfriend has lots of