back steps before she remembered something and turned back.
"I almost blew it the first day," she said to herself. Quickly she went to the freezer, pulled out a package of rock-hard hamburger, and deposited it on the drain-board of the kitchen sink.
"Okay," she said, glancing at the schedule tacked to the bulletin board. "None of the beds is made, but I'll do that when I get home. Meat's out of the freezer. Breakfast dishes can wait. And if I don't leave this instant, I'm going to be late for school."
She headed for the door again. The telephone rang.
She hesitated.
It rang again. She went back and answered it.
"Ms. Krupnik?" asked a bubbly voice.
"Yeah."
"E-Z Telephone Shopping!" the voice said. "Anybody in your family in need of new underwear? We're having a special!"
Anastasia blinked. "That's a very personal question," she said.
"How about blankets?" the voice asked.
Anastasia looked at her watch. She was definitely going to be late for school. Talk about Unexpected Events. "The blanket on my brother's bed is kind of ratty," she said. "It was his security blanket when he was younger, so he used to suck on it, and chew on it, all the time, and now he doesn't do that, but the blanket is all messed up."
"How many new ones would you like?" the voice asked. "And what color?"
"Blue, I guess. Just one."
"Twin, full, queen, or king?"
Anastasia thought. "Twin," she said.
"Standard, or electric?"
"Stand———no, wait. Electric. Sam would like electric. He likes to fool with switches."
"Sheets or towels?"
Anastasia groaned. She didn't have time to think about sheets or towels. "No," she said. "Thank you," she added.
"Credit card number?"
Oh,
no.
"Just a minute," Anastasia said. "I have to get it."
She dashed to her father's study and opened the second drawer of his desk. There, in a typed list, were all of their credit card numbers. She ran back to the phone and read the MasterCard number to the voice.
"I really have to go," she said. "I'm late."
"Bye, now," said the voice.
Anastasia picked up her books again and headed off for school. Already it wasn't quite as easy as she had anticipated, being in charge.
She arrived home just a few minutes before Sam. Anastasia was mad. All of her friends had stayed after school for a basketball game. The streets were absolutely deserted as she walked home, and she imagined that she could hear the cheering junior high crowd back there at the gym. She imagined that Steve Harvey was making basket after basket and was wondering why she hadn't stayed to cheer for him.
Back home, there were three unmade beds—she had pulled the covers up hastily—and a sink full of dishes with congealed egg on them.
And Sam was bratty. He was tired after an unaccustomed day at school, and he whined. He wanted Anastasia to play trucks with him.
"I can't play trucks," Anastasia said. "I have to do these dishes."
"Mom always plays trucks," Sam whimpered.
Anastasia looked at him in exasperation. "Tell you what," she suggested finally. "Bring your trucks down here and you can transport the clean dishes to the cupboard."
He trotted off and returned with a large red dump truck. On his hands and knees he
rrrrrrrred
each clean dish to the pantry and put it away. Anastasia waited impatiently, holding cups and glasses after they were dry, for the trucking company to return for a pickup.
When the last one was done, she hung up the dish towel and wiped the sink with a sponge. She sat down wearily in a kitchen chair, and Sam climbed into her lap.
"Scratch my back," he said. "My back itches."
Automatically Anastasia scratched his little back through his shirt.
"More," Sam said when she stopped.
Anastasia sighed and scratched again. She was still scratching when the back door opened and her father appeared.
"Greetings," he said. "Your mom's in sunny California by now!"
"You're home early," Anastasia began, but then she looked at her watch. "How did it get to be five o'clock?" she
"I almost blew it the first day," she said to herself. Quickly she went to the freezer, pulled out a package of rock-hard hamburger, and deposited it on the drain-board of the kitchen sink.
"Okay," she said, glancing at the schedule tacked to the bulletin board. "None of the beds is made, but I'll do that when I get home. Meat's out of the freezer. Breakfast dishes can wait. And if I don't leave this instant, I'm going to be late for school."
She headed for the door again. The telephone rang.
She hesitated.
It rang again. She went back and answered it.
"Ms. Krupnik?" asked a bubbly voice.
"Yeah."
"E-Z Telephone Shopping!" the voice said. "Anybody in your family in need of new underwear? We're having a special!"
Anastasia blinked. "That's a very personal question," she said.
"How about blankets?" the voice asked.
Anastasia looked at her watch. She was definitely going to be late for school. Talk about Unexpected Events. "The blanket on my brother's bed is kind of ratty," she said. "It was his security blanket when he was younger, so he used to suck on it, and chew on it, all the time, and now he doesn't do that, but the blanket is all messed up."
"How many new ones would you like?" the voice asked. "And what color?"
"Blue, I guess. Just one."
"Twin, full, queen, or king?"
Anastasia thought. "Twin," she said.
"Standard, or electric?"
"Stand———no, wait. Electric. Sam would like electric. He likes to fool with switches."
"Sheets or towels?"
Anastasia groaned. She didn't have time to think about sheets or towels. "No," she said. "Thank you," she added.
"Credit card number?"
Oh,
no.
"Just a minute," Anastasia said. "I have to get it."
She dashed to her father's study and opened the second drawer of his desk. There, in a typed list, were all of their credit card numbers. She ran back to the phone and read the MasterCard number to the voice.
"I really have to go," she said. "I'm late."
"Bye, now," said the voice.
Anastasia picked up her books again and headed off for school. Already it wasn't quite as easy as she had anticipated, being in charge.
She arrived home just a few minutes before Sam. Anastasia was mad. All of her friends had stayed after school for a basketball game. The streets were absolutely deserted as she walked home, and she imagined that she could hear the cheering junior high crowd back there at the gym. She imagined that Steve Harvey was making basket after basket and was wondering why she hadn't stayed to cheer for him.
Back home, there were three unmade beds—she had pulled the covers up hastily—and a sink full of dishes with congealed egg on them.
And Sam was bratty. He was tired after an unaccustomed day at school, and he whined. He wanted Anastasia to play trucks with him.
"I can't play trucks," Anastasia said. "I have to do these dishes."
"Mom always plays trucks," Sam whimpered.
Anastasia looked at him in exasperation. "Tell you what," she suggested finally. "Bring your trucks down here and you can transport the clean dishes to the cupboard."
He trotted off and returned with a large red dump truck. On his hands and knees he
rrrrrrrred
each clean dish to the pantry and put it away. Anastasia waited impatiently, holding cups and glasses after they were dry, for the trucking company to return for a pickup.
When the last one was done, she hung up the dish towel and wiped the sink with a sponge. She sat down wearily in a kitchen chair, and Sam climbed into her lap.
"Scratch my back," he said. "My back itches."
Automatically Anastasia scratched his little back through his shirt.
"More," Sam said when she stopped.
Anastasia sighed and scratched again. She was still scratching when the back door opened and her father appeared.
"Greetings," he said. "Your mom's in sunny California by now!"
"You're home early," Anastasia began, but then she looked at her watch. "How did it get to be five o'clock?" she
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