“You’re an Okie, aren’t you?” “What?” A glance. His back straightened. “You said us. ‘What about us?’ You’re one of them. An Okie.” That word. Spoken just like the outsider he was. “What’s it to you?” “Are you fleeing the drought?” Fleeing. That word was worse than Okie. It hit me like a punch in the gut. “I ain’t fleeing nothing.” He clicked his tongue and wagged one thick finger. “I shoulda known. A girl your age hopping a train by herself. You aren’t normal stock. I’ve been around enough Okies to know ’em when I see ’em. Either spitting fire as they march away with their tails tucked or
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Okie was actually a derogatory term for Dust Bowl migrants whom many saw as a drain on other states' resources.
