Free Survival Strategies of the Almost Brave by Jen White Page B

peanut butter crackers. “Can I have these, too?”
    â€œOf course. Don’t I always buy you two when Dad gives me money for food?”
    â€œYeah.”
    That was my job. To feed Billie, like my baby bird. Dad didn’t want to have to worry about it. He always gave me the money, and I worked it out, usually at a gas station. Sometimes there was a restaurant at a truck stop, but Dad didn’t like to go to restaurants. I think too many people.
    â€œYou should eat this, too,” I said, holding up the turkey jerky. “You need protein.”
    Billie shook her head.
    â€œYou need it, Billie. All animals need it.”
    â€œIs it the spicy kind?”
    I shook my head.
    She grabbed a piece and shoved it in her mouth. “Tell me what else animals need.”
    I swallowed hard. That was easy. “They need food, shelter, water, most need sun, and…” I hesitated and thought about the ants from this morning. All of them with their skinny ant arms dragging that chip across the parking lot, helping one another like a family should. “And they need one another, someone to look after them.”
    â€œThey do?” asked Billie.
    I nodded. Of course they did, didn’t they? I guess sea turtles didn’t, but I’m sure the mom was sad to leave her eggs.
    â€œHow do they look after one another?”
    â€œLike how I watch after you.”
    She made a face. “I know, but how do animals do it?”
    I crumpled my doughnut wrapper into a tiny ball and glanced around the pool. Everything was quiet except for the occasional hum of a machine that sat beside the pool. Tucked behind the hedges, we were safe. And in just a few minutes I was going to call Julie. Now I could almost breathe. I continued, “Well, dolphins talk to other dolphins; like, they tell them where the good fish is or if there is danger.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œWith clicks and whistles and stuff.”
    Billie chirped at me through a mouthful of crackers.
    â€œShh,” I said, smiling. She knew dolphins were my favorite. “And killer whales stay together forever—at least the moms and babies do.”
    â€œWhat happens to the dads?”
    â€œThey’re not allowed.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe they like to be by themselves. But the moms and babies make a group called a pod and they stay together until they die.”
    I balled up the peanut butter cracker trash.
    She nodded some more, her eyes glistening. “Like us. We’re a pod,” she whispered. “Except we don’t have a mom anymore.”
    Even if I never talked about Mom, she was always in my brain, floating around, trying to get me to pay attention to her. I wondered if Billie was thinking about that awful day like I was.

 
    Survival Strategy #19:
    NEVER ANSWER THE DOOR
    On that day the knocking on the door was really loud. And our babysitter, Mrs. Mason, didn’t hear it because she had fallen asleep watching the cooking channel again.
    It was Saturday morning, and Mom was supposed to be home any minute from her night shift at the hospital, and she said she would take Billie and me to the beach that day. So I didn’t care that Mrs. Mason was starting to drool onto her sweatshirt. Or that the baked crème brûlée French toast on TV looked so good that I might drool, too.
    The knocking wouldn’t stop, so I answered the door.
    And if I was smart—and usually I am pretty smart—I would have left that door closed. And I would’ve let those policemen sit on the porch forever. Because then I’d never have to hear what they were going to say. And Billie wouldn’t have to know, either. She was eating breakfast—Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms mixed together.
    We didn’t know what would happen when that door opened.
    When it did, Mrs. Mason woke up. And a shortish policeman with sunglasses told her first. Because she’s an adult. And the big