Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. - W. Bruce Cameron

Maya was wearing a big fluffy outfit, so I knew we weren’t going to the park to play afterward, but that was okay because everyone seemed so glad at how well I’d done the trick. Mama even cried, she was so happy.

My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn’t want to cause him any unhappiness now — in that way, I decided it was probably better that he wasn’t here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.

I was singing! I had my earbuds in! What are you doing home? What’s in the bag?” “I forgot something. It’s, um, dog food. We’re having a food drive at school.” “Do you really think it looks good to give dog food?” “Mo-ther. It’s not for the people. It’s for their dogs.” “You mean to tell me they can’t afford to feed themselves, but they have dogs? What’s this country coming to?” “Are you getting laundry? I’ll help you fold,” Clarity said. “Let’s take it upstairs.” They went up the stairs, leaving me alone again. I was really, really hungry.