Read Online Tending to Grace by Kimberly Newton Fusco - Free Book Online

as high as my face.
    Agatha looks up from the cucumbers she is slicing.
    â€œWhat happened to you?”
    I tell her the story and drip on the floor.
    â€œMaybe you should race it for her,” Agatha says.

57
    â€œName, please.”
    A boy wearing a sign on his chest that says FROG JUMPING COMMISSIONER looks up at me. Behind him, someone has taped a set of rules, written on poster board in thick black paint:
    OFFICIAL RULES
    No toads.
    Any frog jockey who is rough will be asked to leave the race.
    A jump is measured by running a string from the start line to the frog’s front feet after it has hopped three times.
    DO NOT ARGUE WITH THE FROG COMMISSIONER.
    ALL JUDGMENTS ARE FINAL •

58
    The frog commissioner looks up at me when I don’t answer.
    â€œI said, Name, please.”
    â€œUmmmmm.” I try to ride the vibrating wave of the
m
sound, hoping I can break into
Cornelia
without blocking on empty air. I look for Bo in the crowd, even though I don’t expect to see her. A boy with a frog twice the size of mine edges forward. “What’s going on?”
    â€œIf you want to race, I need your name,” the commissioner says again. “Are you going to race or not?”
    I take a deep breath and push my foot into the ground. “C-c-c-c ...” I stop.
    â€œWhat?”
    More of the kids behind me move closer now. “C-c-c-c-c ...” I want to sink into the ground.
    The commissioner looks at me unbelieving, then laughs. “What’s the matter, forget your own name?”
    I take another breath and laugh right along with him. Then I spell my name. The easy way out is as simple as J-e-l-l-O.

59
    â€œJockey, on your mark.” A couple dozen kids kneel down around the circumference of the starting circle while I hold my frog in front of me. They’re all supposed to keep their frogs under control while I jump mine. This is a one-frog-at-a-time race.
    The boy on my left holds a frog with massive legs the size of my entire frog. My frog’s legs look like knitting needles.
    One kid loses control of his frog and watches it jump crazily out of the circle and across the pavement and the boy screams out, “Stop, stop!” but of course it doesn’t listen. I tighten my grip.
    â€œGet ready!” screams the frog commissioner. “Go!”

60
    Two chained German shepherds growl and bark as I round the corner and walk up Bo’s driveway. A woman walks out of the house and wipes her hands on a dish towel and watches me from the porch. Two toddlers grab at her legs, peeking from behind her floured apron. Her stomach sticks out so far with a baby on the way it looks as if she’s tucked a laundry basket under her dress.
    I glance around quickly for the father. There’s no car in the driveway. Several chickens peck at the ground, which is worn thin and bare and hard as an old carpet. A cracked bathtub tilts on the grass, filled with muck.
    â€œIs B-b-b-bo here?”
    The mother looks me over. “You Lenore’s girl?” Her voice softens. She makes my mother’s name sound welcoming, promising, kind.
    I nod.
    â€œBo told me you’re at Agatha’s. You look just like your mother. Like Agatha, too. Come on in. I’ve got something for you.
    â€œBo’s out in the back with the boys. I baked this morning.” We walk into the kitchen and she pulls a chocolate cake out from beneath a checked towel that sits on the stove and wraps it in tinfoil and hands it to me.
    â€œThere’s no frosting on it so it won’t get all over everything. Would you like a piece? I’ve got another. Have a seat.” She points to a table in the middle of the kitchen that sits on an orange and brown braided rug.
    The toddlers peek at me from behind her skirt and she drags them along behind her as she pulls a jelly glass from a cupboard and fills it with milk.
    Faded curtains cover the window over the sink. An old white sink sits