The Chicken Sisters - K.J. Dell'Antonia Page 0,103

at her more closely: “It’s okay. Sorry. Just—catch your breath.”

She gulped, and snorted, an ugly great sniff that she didn’t help at all by wiping her face with the arm holding the dusty sneakers, and started past him, but he stopped her, putting a quick hand on her shoulder again, then yanking it away.

“You might want to wait,” he said, gesturing down the stairs. “It’s—there are a lot of people down there.” He smiled, a weak, dubious smile. “Um, you a runner, then?” He pointed to the sneakers, still in her hand, and it was all Amanda could do not to slap him across the face with them. Anybody downstairs was better than standing here with him. She didn’t answer, just kept going, but at least she didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was just pissed. Why the hell was he even trying to be friendly?

Amanda did not feel friendly. Not toward Andy, or Barbara, or Sabrina, or even Nancy. She felt tricked and ambushed and as if every single person in that house—no, in this town—was out to get her, and if they weren’t yet, they would be, once they heard everything Mae and Andy were saying. Everybody was all in for Mae, back home in all her glory, and everybody was ready to toss Amanda out with these stupid shoes. Nancy, too. Nancy made her come here, and Nancy had run out on her last night at Frannie’s when all Amanda had ever tried to do was help. Fuck Frannie’s. Fuck Mimi’s. Fuck them all.

Andy’s question flashed back through Amanda’s mind. Was she a runner? Not today. Today she was a fighter. Make me look like a bitch, Sabrina, and I’ll give you a bitch.

When one of Sabrina’s camerapeople met her at the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t hesitate. “What do I think of it? I think it’s disgusting, same as you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her mother coming toward her, but she didn’t let that stop her. “It sucked to live here, and I left the minute I could. Wouldn’t you?”

Sabrina appeared, inevitable microphone in hand. “But you live five minutes away. Haven’t you tried to help?”

“My mother doesn’t want my help,” Amanda said. “Never did. She was as glad to see me go as I was to leave.” The times Barbara had helped her, especially after Frank died, Amanda pushed out of her mind. “I’ll help now because anybody would. But you all are so upset about dogs living here—think about being a kid in this.” It felt so good to finally say that, to finally have someone to listen, even if everyone did seem to think this whole cleanup was some kind of goddamn picnic. “Think about what that was like. And you know, we can clean it up, but she won’t change. The dogs will be lost or poisoned or something within six months. But fine, try. I won’t stop you. I’ll even help. But it’s pointless.”

Amanda marched off with her running shoes, brushing past Barbara without looking at her, and threw them on a random pile—if there was some system here, she didn’t know it—then marched back in, refusing to acknowledge anyone as she passed them. She had said what needed to be said, and she was done. Who the hell cared, anyway? This would all be over soon, Food Wars would leave, her mother would fill the house again, Andy would find some much better job in some much better town, Mae would go back to Brooklyn, Gus would go to college, if they could just find some money, and she and Frankie would be here, working at Frannie’s unless Nancy threw them out, and if she did, well, Amanda was a good hostess. She’d find work. All that other crap, drawing, writing—she’d been stupid to ever waste her time on it. This was real life, right here, and it sucked.

She made herself a machine, reciting her every move to keep her mind from doing anything else. In, get box, out. In, get pile of clothing, out. In, figure out how to wrestle chair down the stairs, out. In, two boxes this time, try to see around them to get down the stairs.

And then there was Mae, standing on the front porch, blocking her way. Amanda shifted the boxes up in her arms. “Move, Mae. These are heavy.” Why wasn’t she carrying anything, anyway? “Go get some boxes yourself if you don’t believe me. You