Then she tells me that a couple of neighbors have been buying eggs off her. Buying them.
And while I’m coming to grips with this incredible bit of news, she whips out her mental calculator.
“Do you realize I’ve lost over a hundred dollars giving these eggs to you?” Then she races across the street in a flood of tears.
As much as I tried to tell myself that I hadn’t asked her for the eggsI hadn’t said we wanted them
or needed them or liked themthe fact was, I’d never seen Juli cry before.
Not when she’d broken her arm in P.E., not when she’d been teased at school or ditched by her brothers.
Not even when they’d cut down the sycamore tree. I’m pretty sure she cried then, but I didn’t actually see it.
To me, Juli Baker had always been too tough to cry.
I went down to my room to pack my stuff for school, feeling like the biggest jerk to ever hit the planet.
I’d been sneaking around throwing out eggs for over two years, avoiding her, avoiding my father – what did that make me?
Why hadn’t I just stood up and said, No thanks, don’t want ’em, don’t need ’em, don’t like ’em….
Give them to the snake, why don’t you? Something!
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