Extraits

Spring 2004

“Good morning, good morning, to you!” My momma sings, dancing into the room. “Wake up, Avie!”

I blink my eyes open and stare at my mom. She’s smiling down at me, her blue eyes wide and responsive. She’s always smiling. She swoops down and presses a kiss to my head and then she spins in a delicate circle, finding my cupboard where she pulls out my school uniform. Her fingers run over the material, smoothing it out. Her nose crinkling as she realizes it’s not ironed to her standards.

“I don’t want to go to school today,” I moan, sliding out of bed.

“Baby-cakes, you know what your momma always says?”