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gonna catch that dog. And what if I did? Could I really keep him? Mama would probably have a hissy fit. But I bet Scrappy would call from jail and tell her to stop her yammering and let me have a dog if I wanted one.
    Then, as we were turning onto the main road into town, I saw a black horse out in a field, eating grass and swishing its tail at flies. I shook my fist at it three times and made my wish. That was the rule for black-horse wishing. If you see a white horse, just make a wish. But for a black horse you have to shake your fist at it three times. I’d learned that one from Scrappy, which made me a little skeptical, but I did it anyway.
    Shook my fist and made my wish.

 
    Six
    A few days later, Mrs. Willibey called Bertha about my bad attitude. That day in school, she had asked me if I had two-thirds of a piece of pie and I wanted to give half to my sister, then how much of the whole pie would that be? I told her I wouldn’t give my sister any of my pie. Everybody had laughed except Mrs. Willibey. She had turned red and pressed her lips together and made her eyes into little slits when she looked at me.
    When she called Bertha that afternoon, I was stretched out in Gus’s easy chair watching TV. The fat orange cat named Flora was curled in my lap.
    I heard Bertha say “She did?” and “Oh, dear.” Then she lowered her voice and I could only make out bits and pieces drifting through the kitchen door.
    â€œâ€¦ a rough time…”
    â€œâ€¦ missing her family…”
    â€œâ€¦ been hard on her…”
    Then she hung up and I kept my eyes on the TV when she came in and sat on the couch.
    â€œThat was Mrs. Willibey,” she said.
    A fast-talking guy on TV was pouring chocolate syrup on the floor and mopping it up with a Miracle Mop.
    â€œShe told me you’ve been a little rude in school,” Bertha said.
    Now the man on TV was showing the set of knives that came free with the Miracle Mop.
    Then Bertha started going on about how she knows how upset I must be about my family being all broken like it is. Well, she didn’t use the word broken , but she might as well have. She said she knew how it must be scary to see Mama like she was. How I must be worried sick about Scrappy. How I must miss Jackie so much.
    I kept my eyes on the mopping man and in my head I said, Pineapple. Pineapple. Pineapple . But Howard’s stupid idea didn’t work because the next thing I knew I was hollering at Bertha. Mean words about minding her own business and who cared about my broken-up, sorry excuse for a family. Not me, that was for sure. The words kept spewing and got louder and faster. How I hated Colby and all those hillbilly kids and this nasty old house hanging off the side of the mountain and those canning jars in my room and especially those Cinderella pillowcases.
    Then I stalked outside, letting the screen door slam behind me and trying not to think about Bertha sitting there on the couch looking like she’d been stabbed in the heart.
    A couple of cats leaped out of my way as I stormed across the yard and up the driveway toward the road. I kicked at dirt and yanked on leaves and hurled gravel into the woods. When I got to the road, I didn’t even care that the asphalt was burning hot under my bare feet. The mad was swirling inside me, making my ears ring and my stomach churn. But then, the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the dirt on the side of the road crying so hard I couldn’t hardly breathe.
    What was wrong with me? Why had I said those mean things to Bertha? Why was I acting so hateful at school? And then, while I was sitting there wallowing in my pity, somebody said, “What’s the matter, Charlie?”
    I looked up to see Howard standing by his bicycle in front of me.
    I put my head on my knees and mumbled, “Nothing.”
    â€œMust be something,” he said.
    â€œGo away.”
    â€œNaw.” He laid his bicycle