“It was Friday, Aunt Frieda’s day off, and she was in the kitchen, beating cake batter. Reaching high into the cupboard for a glass, Joey felt her eyes on him. He turned to find her gazing at him thoughtfully. “What?” “Your shirt’s small. You’ve grown.” Joey looked down. True enough, an inch of skin showed between his shirt and his shorts. “Guess so.” “Put on weight, too. Got a little tummy now.” “I do not!” She laughed. “That’s good, Joey. You’re not such a scrawny little chicken, like when you... first came.” “Aunt Frieda!” he said, outraged. But he laughed with her, then bent over to tie his sneaker. As he wiggled his foot, there was a r-r-rip sound, and his big toe poked through the canvas. Aunt Frieda frowned. Uh-oh, Joey thought. Bobbie came into the kitchen, dressed in a polo shirt and shorts, baseball glove in hand. “Ready, Joey?” “Bobbie, go get changed,” Aunt Frieda said. “Why?” “We’re going shopping.” “Shopping?” A horrified look.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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