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stood there, looking at me. I stood up and threw my arms around his neck and hugged him as tightly as I could. Buddy stood motionless, as if he knew that I needed love at that moment.
    I finally got my nose to stop bleeding and walked up to the barn where the hay was kept. I turned on the light and closely inspected the hay bales. “There’s no moldy hay in here,” I said angrily to myself. Nevertheless, no one was going to believe me, and I had to finish my chores. I had a lot of writing to do. I spent the next five hours writing I will not lie over and over and over until I couldn’t hold the pencil anymore.
    After that, Mom introduced me to many more “uncles.” She knew that after that horrible night I would never mention a word to Dale Richard about any men who came around while he was at work. Rachel Emily was spared the physical abuse or any other repercussions that I received that night and was never again exposed to any of Mom’s boyfriends.  I, on the other hand, met many men in the next year. They ranged from oil delivery workers to construction workers to car dealership workers. I would accompany my mother on her “dates” so Dale Richard would not become suspicious. I usually ended up sitting in the car or in another room while Mom was having fun with her boy toy of the moment.
    By the time I turned thirteen, I had met nine different “uncles,” all of whom showered me with gifts. Each one was only around for about a month. But I didn’t dare speak a word about them to Dale Richard , for I knew that would only lead to another beating and another long night of sitting in the bathroom writing sentences. I was focused on survival, on protecting myself from harm—and if I were to utter a word about my mother’s indiscretions to Dale Richard , I would be putting my life in danger.

Chapter 6
    The five-finger discount
    Life was getting tougher on the farm. Mom and Dale Richard were constantly stressed about money, and they took their anger out on me on a nightly basis. Some nights it was just verbal abuse and name-calling, but many nights it was punches and kicks.
    Sometimes I wondered if anyone knew what was going on. I couldn’t figure out how I could go to school with bruises all over my body and cuts on my face without one person asking me what was going on. Like I would have told the truth anyway!
    Once in a while, a nice lady from the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) would show up because of an anonymous tip and ask me questions about the bruises on my body, but I always lied. I knew that if I didn’t live at home, I would end up in foster care, and I did NOT want that for my life. So I would tell the DCFS lady my grand stories of falling down the stairs or getting kicked by a horse; then she would leave and I wouldn’t hear from her again.
    Of course, after every DCFS visit, Mom would beat me worse than ever. “Who the fuck are you to call the authorities on me? I’ll kill you, you worthless piece of shit!” Mom’s fists would rain down on me, her boots slamming into my side, and she would pull my hair practically out of my head. No matter how many times I told her that I hadn’t called DCFS, it didn’t matter. It was an excuse for Mom to beat me.
    “What can I do to make her love me?” I would think to myself as I lay in bed, shaking and trembling from my most recent beating. The answer eventually came in the form of what is sometimes called the “five-finger discount.”
    It all began on a family trip to an outlet mall. Mom, Dale Richard , Rachel Emily , and I were walking around a store that sold everything from videos to snowshoes. I wandered away from the rest of the family to check out the new Keds shoes that were on display. I desperately wanted a pair of those shoes. Every girl in school had a pair, and I thought that if I had a pair, I just might fit in with these girls who teased me every day.
    Mom walked over and said, “Forget it! There’s no way you are