her mother says. “How about that?” “Okay.” Janey doesn’t like to share food. It makes her nervous, deciding how much she can take. She’ll let her mother have all the French fries. While they wait for their food, Janey looks around the room. Big fat guys dressed in bib overalls and plaid shirts, hats on the table beside them with sweat stains on them. Not many women; there’s one woman two tables over sitting with a little girl wearing a blue sundress and red shoes. The girl is cute: curly blond hair, pink cheeks, a hec-tic kind of energy that has her playing with the salt and pepper shakers, arranging and rearranging her silverware, changing her position from sitting to kneeling to sitting. 64 t h e d a y i a t e w h a t e v e r i w a n t e d Janey waves at her, and the little girl stares. “Hi,” Janey says, but the girl says nothing back. “So,” Janey’s mother says, “are you excited?” About lunch? Janey wonders. The trip? She nods. “Me, too,” her mother says, and then turns to her father.
What do You think about The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted?
