“ho crumbs from my chin.
“a mother alerprint on the doorknob. ”
like a choked fish, my mother o?” i asked, as i galloped2 to the toilet s t. “i read it on your forehead.”
ot a bit older, her forehead reading became truly remarkable. i could hide absolutely nothing from that gaze. i irls. ”
“ hands, for god’s sake,” i lied, rubbing my chafed mouth.
“you can’t fool me, lynn ruth,” said my mother.“i can read the ar story on your forehead. put some lotion on your face, or you’ll look like a ra knoe of things she could not see sharpened the farther ae my freshman year, disoriented and lonesome3 for the very place i had denounced as a suffocating prison a feood cry, my mother ot your pilloht before.
i had done my o and had shut the door to my room hted she couldn’t see products on the supermarket shelf lasses. hohts rattling around in my brain, for she then ansy unspoken question.
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