“Salmonella? But…” “My mom doesn’t think it’s worth the risk.”
I followed him back to the porch. “Are you saying she won’t eat them because—” “Because she’s afraid of being poisoned.”
“Poisoned! Why?” “Because your backyard is, like, covered in turds! I mean, look at your place, Juli!”
He pointed at our house and said, “Just look at it. It’s a complete dive!”
“It is not!” I cried, but the truth was sitting right across the street, impossible to deny.
My throat suddenly choked closed and I found it painful to speak. “Have you… always thrown them away?”
He shrugged and looked down. “Juli, look. We didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings? Do you realize Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms pay me for my eggs?”
“You’re kidding.” “No! They pay me two dollars a dozen!” “No way.”
“It’s true! All those eggs I gave to you I could’ve sold to Mrs. Stueby or Mrs. Helms!”
“Oh,” he said, and looked away. Then he eyed me and said, “Well, why did you just give them to us?”
I was fighting back tears, but it was hard. I choked out, “I was trying to be neighborly…!”
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