I fetch an old shoebox from the back of the crawl space and climb up on my bed. I open the box. Inside: A collection of pictures of fancy bedrooms clipped from magazines and held together with a paperclip. An incomplete math test with a big red F at the top and big red curse words where there should have been a Venn diagram. One long pink and orange sock and one hair elastic with dark blue bobbles on it. These were my mother's things ... Also in the box -- three small wooden puzzles, the kind with the small pieces that fit together only one way to make a cube or an egg. These are the puzzles I had in my pockets when Mom dumped me here. She was always getting them for me because they were easy to steal ... I put the six dollars in the shoebox ... put the box under my bed and then sit by my window and look at my philosophy booth. When Mom comes back for me -- and she will -- I'll have a ton of money saved. Then she can dump whatever jackass boyfriend is with her and just be with me. Excerpted from The Outsmarters by Deborah Ellis All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
