Ten Days After Grandma’s Funeral
By Roberta Beary

Mom tells me to go to the A&P for filet of flounder. The Man From U.N.C.L.E. is about to start. She can hear the theme music. And she knows I’m crazy about Illya Kuryakin. Go, she says again.

On my walk, I pass the pretty blonde girl from school who never talks to me. Her yellow boots splash inside a big, muddy puddle. I want to be her. But instead I’m big-boned with real bosoms on account of my being what Doctor McDougall calls an early developer.

By the fish counter, some old guy rubs his back against my front, accidentally on purpose. His cart has frozen pizza, the kind with pepperoni and sausage that Mom says is for skinny people. At our house we only eat boring stuff. Friday is always filet of flounder. No dessert. Because money doesn’t grow on trees.