The last weeks of fifth grade were winding down the days one by one, like unwinding a jack-in-the-box so it wouldn't scare the little kids. I was sick and tired of school. Time for a break. And a long one.

Mr. Donnovon, my teacher, had an end of the year countdown on his board. 15 more days until June 19. So close.

"Now, you all know about the end of the year trip, right?" Mr. Donnovon announced promptly, in his usual voice, coarse, but deep and soothing like the depths of the ocean.

"Yes," we, the class, answered.

"Good, good. Let us go over the dates, and rules, and discuss where we were going," he said, in his ocean-voice.

"Okey-dokey," "Alright!" and "Whatever's" swirled in the room like cinnamon buns wrapped in frosting.

We all looked at our papers. We all knew where we were going. We were going to Camp Lakeland. An all-week trip. An overnight trip.

I was really excited about going overnight for a week. Not all kids HAD to go. It was an option, but nobody wanted to miss it. There was so much to offer there besides fun learning. Some kids weren't allowed to go, if they had behaved badly.

Mr. Donnovon interrupted my thought process. "The dates are…."

Mr. Donnovon's voice faded as I drifted off to other thoughts. My mind was swirling like a whirlpool. A sudden SMACK!!! on my desk awoke me from my day-dreaming with a shudder.

"Read rule number 7, Ms. Aphrodite Montgomery."

Kids always giggled at my name because they thought it was weird and even worse than that, it meant Goddess of Love. Most people called me Ash, so people thought my name was Ashley. When people wanted my attention, it was Aphrodite.

"Oh, uhh, yeah," I managed to breathe. "Uhh, problem solve," I glanced around and slumped down at my desk. My deep breaths and skipping heart came to a halt, like a jockey pulling on horse's reins. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. There was no way, no how a problem in my life would ever get fixed.

I spent a lot of time in my room. Not cause I choose to go there. It's because my Ma sends me there.

My Ma is black like me. She wanted to be a News Broadcaster but she had my brother Tagel, and then she had me, which she calls a stupid mistake, so she couldn't go after her big dream.

She still thinks she'll be discovered someday, so she wears only certain things, and carries a brief-case purse. For example: An ironed purple tweed suit with her brief-case purse, and her hair flat ironed and in a ponytail.

My Ma's name is Marcia Ruth Montgomery. Sometimes she calls me Loveless, which doesn't make sense. Does that mean I don't love?

Here's a problem: names that rhyme, like mine, Aphrodite, rhymes with dynamite. So my ma says she hates dynamite and looks at me and smirks. Then I realize dynamite rhymes with my name. My father's name was Michael Ryan Montgomery, and he was black like me, but I don't know what he calls me. He never calls. Ma said he left when she was pregnant with me because I was an accident and he "…Didn't want two stinkin' kids!" as quoted by him.

I'd rather be Loveless then an idiotic accident, but that's another problem to take care of.

I'll tell you the worst name in the world: idiot. That word gives me one stinkin' stomachache. Especially when Ma says it directly to me.

"Aphrodite, you're such an idiot!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning was Ma's birthday. I gave her a blanket I knitted (it took me all the month of March!) and a birthday card I decorated with he favorite color, green, glitter and blue sequins.

"It's beautiful, honey," Ma said looking at the green blanket. "Thank you, darling!" she said, gazing at the card. She gave me a hug.

Tagel, my 14 year old bother, sang "Happy Birthday" at the top of his lungs, trying to sound like an opera singer. I laughed, and so did Ma. Then I joked, and said "T, you couldn't carry a tune to save your life!" Tagel and I laughed, but Ma didn't. She glared at me, like a tiger ready to strike its prey. "That was not funny young lady! Apologize right now!"

"But T and I were both laughing!" I protested.

"SHUT UP YOU IDIOT!" Ma yelled. "Do not argue with me! Go straight to your room!" Her angry voice swirled through the Saturday air, and I felt a pick of tears, but I fought them back, until they turned to silent tears inside me. As a little girl, I'd cried at my Ma's angry face and hurting words. I learned when I was seven, how to fight them back.

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Tagel always helped me with the hard times with Ma. He'd tease Ma out of her bad moods, or make funny jokes. Sometimes, he'd put the Gwen Stafani album into our stereo, and lip-synch to her. Even though I didn't see much of him, since he was in eighth grade, junior high, and I was in sixth grade and 12 years old (in February, it's March), he would still come to my rescue. He was always my Tagel.

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I walked upstairs to my room, as told. When I got up there to my bedroom nightmare, I crammed my face into my pillow and screamed "SHUT UP YOU STUPID IDIOT!" Oh, how I wished I could carry those words down into my kitchen, where my Ma was drinking her coffee, and say them to her face. Why not? She said them to me.

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The next day was Sunday. I took a long walk, since Ma was gone at work, and Tagel had left for Ryan Lammea's after breakfast. I walked down to Belknap Hill Costal Bank, and Belknap Hill Market. Then, I saw the I-Pod. It was silver, with a blue and purple checkerboard case, and it was a touch screen. I had never noticed the store before. Ma made a big deal about not going in there. And how the stuff in there was junk, and the clothes were worn and dirty. I went against Ma's word by going in there.

I expected an instant skin rash or fungus, but nothing happened. The bell at the top of the door jingled, and people were roaming the isles, but other that, nothing, I guess.

A lady was standing at the counter.