Eight
Bea’s tummy growled. Ice cream at Hillcrest hadn’t lasted very long. She had begged for more and even gotten her way.
But at home now, Mommy dragged inside, dropped her purse on the table, and sat on the couch, like she wanted a nap.
And Bea was starving.
That was okay. She had a plan.
She had her own little system: every time she had cereal, she rinsed the bowl, and put it in her own special spot behind the cereal boxes. That way she didn’t have to bother Mommy.
Spoons were easy—just lick them off and put them back in the drawer.
Bea tamped down the Cheerios in her bowl with the back of her spoon, making the surface flat. Back to the box. She needed just a little more—until it filled to the green line on the bowl. The line must have been painted there to stop little kids from
