and then I’d bury the eggs in the trash before my dad showed up. Then came the day I blew it.
Juli’d actually been making herself pretty scarce because it was around the time they’d taken the sycamore tree down,
but suddenly one morning she was back on our doorstep, delivering eggs.
I took them, as usual, and I went to chuck them, as usual.
But the kitchen trash was so full that there wasn’t any room for the carton, so I put it on top,
picked up the trash, and beat it out the front door to empty everything into the garbage can outside.
Well, guess who’s just standing there like a statue on my porch? The Egg Chick.
I about spilled the trash all over the porch. “What are you still doing here?” I asked her.
“I… I don’t know. I was just… thinking.” “About what?” I was desperate.
I needed a distraction. Some way around her with this garbage before she noticed what was sitting right there on top.
She looked away like she was embarrassed. Juli Baker embarrassed? I didn’t think it was possible.
Whatever. The golden opportunity to whip a soggy magazine over the egg carton had presented itself, and buddy, I took it.
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