For all their suffering, they would have insisted they were better off than in the Pot. I remembered women across the fence calling us whores, as if providing for your children by the sweat of your brow was a foul thing, while their own children starved. They only offered us scorn, and I never gave them any of Ma’s bread. After I was taken from the Pot, it haunted me, wondering if their children had survived.
Air’s head came to my shoulder, and he panted, trying to keep up. “Jacqui, please, let’s go home. I’ll get you a dollar another way.”
I stopped and faced him. “What’s wrong with you? You coughed blood! With a dollar you could get medicine and get better.”
Air stared at me. “Some sell little kids.”
“So?” People bought little kids by the hour in Ma’s place every night. Except me. I
