Chapter 2
Irode my bike way farther than Mom said I could today.
But it’s the end of summer and I don’t wanna go home yet.
I rode all the way from my house, through the whole town, past the high school, and now I’m here.
My rear tires on the sidewalk, and my front tire is on the dirt road that leads out to the trailer park.
I get off my Huffy and set it down gently, so I don’t scare her. Tiny sniffles come from a life-size princess doll. The little girl sitting on the dirt road has her knees pulled to her chin, and her face buried in her arms crying.
I walk over to her. I’m nervous, but it feels like the right thing to do to help her. I plop down beside her in the dirt and pat her shaking back.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking around for a grown-up.
I can’t see her face. It’s hidden behind the whitest hair I’ve ever seen. It’s shiny, and straight, and almost touches her bottom. Like the Barbie dolls my big sister plays with.
She slowly lifts her head from her crossed arms but doesn’t look at me.
“I’m okay. You don’t have to sit with me,” she says quietly.
“Do you need a grown-up? I can go get my mom,” I offer, hiking a thumb over my shoulder.
“Grown-ups never help. It’s okay.”
She wipes her runny nose with the back of her hand and wipes it on her pretty yellow dress, already dirty from sitting on the ground.
She tucks her doll-like hair behind her ear and shyly looks at me.
Her eyes look like diamonds. They’re red from crying, but they’re sparkly like my mom’s wedding ring.
My eyes are just brown. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before.
I pop up from the ground and hold my hands out to help her up. “My name’s Connor. What’s your name?”
Tinkling like a bell, the little doll says, “I’m Delilah.”
I’ve never heard that name before. It’s pretty. She’s wiping the dust off her bottom, so I peek at her face a little bit. She’s so pretty. Even though her face is all splotchy and red and there’s tears and boogers on it.
My mom hugs me when I cry and it always makes me feel better, maybe it works for other kids too. I do know one thing that fixes anything in the whole wide world. My mom’s lemonade.
“Do you like lemonade?” I ask.
She’s shy but says she likes lemonade and gives me a tiny smile that makes me feel funny in my stomach.
“My mom makes the world’s best lemonade. I bet she has cookies too. Come on, you’re coming home with me.”