8

“I’m thirsty, Mommy.”

“It’s the Chinese food. It always makes you thirsty. Have another drink of water.”

“I don’t want water. I’m tired of water. Can’t I have some juice?”

“I’m sorry, honey, but I didn’t get a chance to do any shopping. The only thing to drink around here is some wine and you can’t have that. I’ll get you some juice in the morning. I promise.”

“Oh, okay.”

Vicky slumped in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. She wanted juice instead of water and she wanted to watch something else besides these dumb news shows. First the six o’clock news, then something called the network news, and Mr. Grossman—he wasn’t her uncle; why did he want her to call him Uncle Abe?—talking, talking, talking. She’d much rather be watching The Brady Bunch. She had seen them all at least twice, some three or four times. She liked the show. Nothing bad ever happened. Not like the news.

Her tongue felt dry. If only she had some juice…

She remembered the orange—the one she had saved from her playhouse this morning. That would taste so delicious now.

Without a word she got up from her chair and slipped into the bedroom she and Mommy would be sharing tonight. Her Ms. Jelliroll Carry Case was on the floor of the closet. Kneeling in the dim light of the room, she opened it and pulled the orange out. It felt so cool in her hand. Just the smell made her mouth water. This was going to taste so good.

She bent over by the screened window and dug her thumb into the thick skin until it broke through, then she began peeling. Juice squirted all over her hands as she tore a section loose and bit into it. Juice, sweet and tangy, gushed onto her tongue. Delicious! She pushed the rest of the section into her mouth and was tearing another free when she noticed something funny about the taste. It wasn’t a bad taste, but it wasn’t a good taste either. She took a bite of the second section. It tasted the same.

Suddenly she was frightened. What if the orange was rotten? Maybe that’s why Jack wouldn’t let her have any this morning. What if it made her sick?

Panicked, Vicky bent and shoved the rest of the orange under the bed—she’d sneak it into the garbage later when she had a chance. Then she strolled as casually as she could out of the room and over to the bathroom, where she washed the juice off her hands and drank a Dixie Cup full of water.

She hoped she didn’t get a stomach ache. Mommy would be awfully mad if she found out about sneaking the orange. But more than anything, Vicky prayed she didn’t throw up. Throwing up was the worst thing in the world.

Vicky returned to the living room, averting her face so no one could see it. She felt guilty. One look at her and Mommy would know something was wrong. The weather lady was saying that tomorrow was going to be hot and dry and sunny again, and Mr. Grossman started talking about drought and people fighting over water. She sat down and hoped they’d let her watch The Partridge Family after this.