Crenshaw

by Katherine Applegate

“I would put Krispy Kreme doughnuts in the magic category,” said my dad.

“There’s everything wrong with asking for help,” my dad snapped. “It means we’ve failed.”

I started school late, but eventually I made new friends. I never told them about the time we were homeless. Not even Marisol. I just couldn’t. If I never talked about it, I felt like it couldn’t ever happen again.

What bothered me most, though, was that I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t control anything. It was like driving a bumper car without a steering wheel. I kept getting slammed, and I just had to sit there and hold on tight. Bam. Were we going to have enough to eat tomorrow? Bam. Were we going to be able to pay the rent? Bam. Would I go to the same school in the fall?