She hands me her potato baby, and I take hold right above the twisty. “Not like that!” she says. “You’re swinging her by the hair. You’ve probably disconnected her neck or something.” “It’s a bag of potatoes, Vanessa.” “That bag of potatoes is my homemaking project, and I plan to get an A.” She carefully takes the “baby” from me. “Now make a cradle with your arms,” she says. I make a cradle, and she gently places the baby there. It’s a lumpy thing, and since the potatoes are in a mesh bag, dirt gets on my arms. “Your baby needs a bath,” I tease, but she ignores me. We get to her house and enter through the kitchen door. “It’s me,” Vanessa calls to her mom in the other room. Then she runs to the restroom, and while she’s gone, I hide the potato baby in the fridge.
