Owen doesn't have much time for school. He's too busy supporting his mother. He has made an arrangement with Mr. Von Hellerman at the grocery store, who lets him do the chores of an assistant. At the age of twelve, Owen is too young to work, but he is being paid under the table. In Owen's neighborhood, the law is more of a suggestion than an order. When you're at the bottom of the food chain, playing by the rules gets you nowhere. If you want to survive, you have to be brave enough to defy authority.
Nobody ever catches Owen in his illegal pursuits, and it's for the best. He's still the breadwinner of the family, and that's not about to change as long as his mother stays unemployed. Owen's father still hasn't returned. Even after seven years, he still hopes that he'll change his mind and come back to his family. A part of him believes that it's possible. If his father does happen to stroll up to the trailer unexpectedly, Owen is more than prepared for his arrival. He writes a letter each year so that he'll be able to tell him about everything that has happened since he was gone. There's not much to tell.
Life is rather monotonous in such a small town. Every day, Owen gets up at five and walks to the grocery store. He had to sell his bike so that his mother could pay the man who runs the trailer park. The fresh morning air always clears his head, and he has time to think. Owen thinks about simple things, like how he's going to accommodate extra expenses or how he's going to make it home by dark. Other times, he thinks about his mother. She drinks a lot. Owen has a vague idea that she's consuming too much alcohol for her own good, but he doesn't do anything about it. Even so, it's starting to put stress on his budget, and should be corrected as soon as possible.
It's hard to earn a salary that supports two people. Owen considers working two jobs, but he's barely managing with one. His trailer is about an hour away from the grocery store, and he has no better way of traveling. He doesn't want to use the truck, because he can't afford the gas money, and he doesn't have a license. He wishes that he had a bike again, but he knows that he can't afford it. Every time he tries to save up, his mother sneaks into his room and takes the extra cash. He'll either have to confront her about it or find a better hiding place. For now, he can just pretend that it isn't happening.
Owen's life isn't all bad, however. There's a girl who comes to the grocery store every week with her mother, and he enjoys her company. The girl's name is Jeannie, and she's very nice to Owen. She often wears shirts that are too loose and shorts that are too short, and her hair is always pulled up in a messy ponytail with a neon scrunchie. She's about the closest thing he has to a friend.
Owen has always suspected that his life isn't what other people would consider normal. He's not well-educated, for one thing, and he doesn't do any of the activities he reads about in books. Children are supposed to play, but Owen is always working. That's fine by him, since he's the adult of the house now, but something about the way people react to his situation sits wrong with him. They always give him looks of pity, and that's when they aren't too ashamed to make eye contact with him.
One day, when Jeannie's mother is busy shopping, Owen has a little talk with his best friend. They chat about school or the lack thereof. They talk about the weather and how it's affecting the farmers. Then, somehow, they get to talking about birthdays.
"My mom's getting me a fancy cake this year. It's one of the special ones with your name written right on it in pink frosting. You ever had one of those?"
Owen shakes his head.
"We don't celebrate my birthdays anymore," he says simply.
"Why not?"
"That's kids' stuff."
"You are a kid."
"Not really," Owen replies with a shrug.
Jeannie pops her gum.
"That's real sad. Not having birthdays, I mean."
Owen twists his mouth.
"I have them. I just don't celebrate."
Jeannie rolls her eyes.
"Well, if I never had a birthday, I think I'd be awfully upset."
"I don't get upset."
"I noticed. I saw Mr. Von Hellerman smack you the other day."
Owen nods.
"I knocked over the soup display."
"I saw. If that were me, I'd start crying."
"I don't cry."
Jeannie laughs.
"What do you mean?"
"Real men don't cry," Owen explains.
"They say crying is good for you. It helps you deal with stress."
"I don't cry. I'm not an animal."
Jeannie snorts as she giggles hysterically, holding her gum between her molars.
"Animals don't cry. Only humans cry. I guess that means you're not human."
Owen frowns.
"Animals cry."
Jeannie shakes her head.
"Where did you get a harebrained idea like that?"
"My father told me," Owen declares.
Jeannie raises her eyebrow.
"Well, he was wrong. What a stupid thing to tell a kid! You shouldn't believe everything he tells you."
"He knows more than you."
"How do you know?"
"He's an adult."
"Adults can be dumb, too."
"My father isn't dumb."
"How do you know? My mom says you haven't seen him since you were five."
They don't speak again after that.
