The landlord had locked the house two days after her mom left and put a paper on the door too high for her to read. But he forgot to close the padlock on the shed's door in the backyard.
The shed was her home now until her mom returned. Afraid the landlord would return and lock her inside if he found the door open, she hid whenever he came around.
He was always mean, coming to the house and yelling at her mom about paying rent. She was scared of him.
The men's voices quieted. She leaned forward on her knees. Excitement about getting a chance to eat what they'd left on the picnic table made her want to pee.
They were going inside.
Saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth. She wiped her hand across her face, almost tasting the food. The last time she chanced stealing their leftovers, they'd had big, thick meat she'd never seen before. While it was hard to chew, she'd eaten everything she fit in her pockets and took back to the shed.
The men disappeared inside. She wiggled out from under the bush and started counting.
"One. Two. Three," she whispered as she crouched on her feet. "Four. Five..."
She looked all around and stood.
"Six. Seven." She forced herself to go slower, knowing she was not waiting long enough to see if it was safe. "Eight. Nine."
She stepped forward. "Ten."
Running to the picnic table, she stepped up on the wooden bench and pulled all the paper plates scattered on the surface toward her. Her chest pounded, scooping up stray potato chips that were left behind, fallen pieces of lettuce, and crumbs of bread. She shoved them all in her mouth, unable to wait until she got back to the shed.
Her stomach talked, telling her to eat more. She picked up a plate and licked the ketchup off the paper. It was sweeter than candy.
Scrambling underneath the table, she looked for any scraps that had fallen. Her throat got smaller, and she opened her mouth to breathe.
"Hey, what are you doing?" bellowed a man.
She froze, curling against her knees, trying to make herself invisible. Without moving her head, she looked toward the door of the back of the building.
Big, black boots thunked against the ground and stopped at the corner of the table. Afraid to move in case she made noise, she ignored the pain in her palms from the pebbles on the asphalt digging into her hands.
The man walked to the side of the table. She leaned away from him, unable to see his upper body.
A hand appeared underneath the table. She jerked, but her legs wouldn't work.
His fingers grabbed her shirt. She wrapped her hands around his wrist, pushing him away, but he wouldn't let go.
A whimper escaped her mouth as he dragged her toward him. He lifted her off the ground by her shirt. She gasped, reaching out for the bench, the table, the air, anything to help her get away.
Plunked onto her feet, she scurried away from the large presence in front of her. He dragged her back to him.
"Hold on, you little mouse." He shook her, causing her to cry out. "What the fuck?"
He hauled her up to her tiptoes. She raised her gaze and glared at him.
"You're a little girl," he mumbled.
His mean eyes widened. She panted, seeing the moon in his brown eyes. Her mom always swore mean people were missing the moon-shaped light in their eyes.
He set her on top of the picnic table and planted his boot on the bench, leaning toward her. She glanced at the empty plates.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Kids at school always made fun of her name and called her Marble. All she wanted to be was a girl with two first names like Beth Ann and Sadie Lee.
So, she lied. "Marla...Marie."
He let go of her shirt and narrowed his eyes. "Marla Marie, huh?"
She crossed her arms in front of her. He wasn't supposed to touch her. Every kid knew only moms and dads could touch kids.
"What are you doing hanging around back here?" He sat down on the bench.
She looked at him harder now that his back was to her. He had a lot of hair. She fingered the end of her strands. His weren't as long as hers. She pulled her hair straight down to her leg.
Like the men who used to come over to the house and drink with her mom, he smelled like smoke and alcohol. She touched the leather vest and jerked her hand away, afraid he'd slap her.
"Don't your folks want you at home?" He looked up at the sky. "You're losing daylight."
Her stomach ached. Nobody knew her mom wasn't home.
Since school was out for the summer, even her teacher wouldn't know what happened to her mom.
"You don't talk much, do you?" He looked over his shoulder at her.
She lifted her shoulder. There was nothing to say. He was nosy.
"You've got ketchup on your forehead." He nudged her leg. "Hungry?"
She swallowed, rubbing the sticky spot on her face. As if her stomach answered him, her belly growled.
"Want a burger?" He stood and faced her. "What do you say, Marla Marie?"
Only because she liked hearing him say her first and middle name together as if they were one, she nodded.
He lifted his chin. "Come on."
He walked to the back door. She jumped off the picnic table and turned to run off but stopped. Looking at the open door, the man had gone inside. He wasn't going to chase her.
She leaned, trying to see inside. Slowly walking to the building, she peered down the hallway and spotted a bunch of people inside.
Music played, and the clank of pool balls sent shivers up her spine. A haze of smoke hovered near the ceiling. There were so many colors and lights.
Nobody appeared to pay any attention to the empty hallway. She crept forward, inching toward the door.
The aroma of something cooking hung thick in the air.
