Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Page B

shoulder. Last: Cinnamon lipstick.
    It’s about twenty minutes to the Park. What a thing – to call it a Park. On her way, she passes two houses, with windowsand doors boarded and development signs out front. That would be her house – if they didn’t live in it. If Abi’s mother had had her way, that would be their house. And where would they be?
Where would we be, Mum, if it had all been up to you? Would you have taken us with you?
The answer is obvious, but Abi doesn’t want to let the word into her head.
    The parking lot of the ice arena is filling with cars, and kids – mostly boys – are piling out of the vehicles, geared up for hockey. SUMMER SKILLS SCHOOL , reads the large sign over the door. The kids look about seven or eight. “You have to go,” Abi overhears a mother say. “I’ve paid over three hundred dollars for this!”
    Abi steals a look at the boy’s face. His expression says “So?”
    â€œAnd I have to go to work,” adds the mother. She climbs back into the car. “I’ll pick you up at four.” She zooms off, leaving the kid at the door, hockey bag at his feet. He waits until the car is out of sight, then with his big hockey gloves he twice swipes at the ground where his stick has fallen. Abi picks it up for him.
    â€œThanks,” he says, not looking her in the eye. Then makes a swipe at the bag. Abi picks it up, slings it over her shoulder, and opens the door for him. He lumbers in on his skate guards.
    A man meets them at the opening of a hallway. “Adam!” he greets the boy. “You’re with us again this year.”
    The boy mumbles something and grabs his bag from Abi before he clumps into a dressing room. The man turns to her. “You must be the big sister.”
    She shakes her head. “No. I’m just…looking for a job,” she blurts out. “I was…thinking of the concession stand.”
    The man is moving away. “No openings there,” he says. “Too many schoolgirls working there. We hardly have enough hours to go around. I believe we do need a bartender, though, up in the restaurant.” He’s walking off to the dressing room.
    â€œBartender?” she echoes.
    â€œLeave a résumé upstairs,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into the room. As the door closes, she glimpses red and blue uniforms.
    â€œI’m not…”
    But he’s gone before she can tell him she’s not old enough. She reaches up and touches the ponytail of hair, tugs at a strap of the dress. So. He thinks she’s old enough to tend bar. He can’t have looked very closely at her. Still. She feels a bit strange, walking back out into the warm summer day. She’s never thought that she looks older than she is. No one at school has ever noticed. If so, they’ve never said anything. But then, when does she ever speak to them?
    Abi leaves résumés at three of the windowless places.
    She’s passing Mack’s Coffee, her head turned away from the window, when she hears her name.
    â€œAbi Jones!” Someone has stepped out from the door of the coffee shop. Takes her a minute to recognize him: Seth MacGregor. He worked with Dad at Milwood Homes. He used to come around after Dad was laid off. Even when the others stopped. Seems to Abi he even came once after Mum left.
    â€œIt is Abi, isn’t it?” He peers at her, looking somewhat mystified, nervous even, and she realizes she needs to say something.
    â€œYes.”
    Now Seth is beginning to look as if he regrets saying anything. “So. Um.” He waves his thumb into the door of the coffee shop, just to let her know someone’s waiting for him.
    She steps back.
Go if you want.
    â€œHow’s your dad?” he asks. Because he has to. “He’s…” What can she say? “He’s the same.” He’ll know what that means.
    He nods