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285 pages, Hardcover
First published September 5, 2017
"I washed my hands every day, Jojo. But that damn blood ain't never come out."
The sky has turned the color of sandy red clay: orange cream. The heat of the day at its heaviest: the insects awoken from their winter slumber. I cannot bear the world.
”Leonie,” Pop says.
I wish he would call me something else. When I was younger he would call me “girl.” When we were feeding the chickens: Girl, I know you can throw that corn further than that. When we were weeding the vegetable garden and I complained about my back hurting: You too young to know pain, girl, with that young back. When I brought report cards home with more As and Bs than Cs: You a smart one, girl. He laughed when he said it, sometimes just smiled, and sometimes said it with a plain face, but it never felt like censure. Now he never calls me by anything but my name, and every time he says it, it sounds like a slap.