Page 2 of Deception

Olive pulled in a shaky breath and nodded resolutely.

She wasn’t going to get out of this. Maybe she was selfish for wanting to.

She gripped the jar in her hand. Earlier, Dad had told her to write “Please Donate” on a piece of paper with a crayon, and then he taped the note to the jar.

Her father had told her to wear her oldest jeans and a dirty sweatshirt—she’d picked a pale pink Barbie one with spaghetti stains on the front. She remembered the day she’d gotten those stains on her favorite shirt. She’d cried, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.

Normally, her mom fixed her long, curly hair so it looked pretty—like a doll baby, Mom said. But not today. Today, Olive’s hair was still matted in the back from where she’d slept on it last night. On the sides, the strands were frizzy.

Olive thought she still had some sticky syrup on the corners of her mouth. Her dad had made her favorite blueberry pancakes today for breakfast. Normally, he told her to wash up afterward.

Not today. Today, he hadn’t even told her to brush her teeth.

Then Olive’s mom and sisters had taken off to go to a baby shower for one of the neighbors. Her dad had asked to “borrow” Olive for a surprise errand.

She’d been so excited to spend some time alone with her dad. He was always so fun—unless he was trying to teach her a lesson.

The two of them had driven out of Tuscaloosa to this small town, a place Olive had never been before. She didn’t even know its name.

As they rode together in the car, Dad sang along with songs on the radio—one about being under an umbrella-ella-ella and another about chasing waterfalls.

Olive had been expecting their errand to be something fun like getting a treat or a surprise trip to an amusement park. Maybe even shopping.

She hadn’t expected this.

“Go on.” Dad nodded toward the pharmacy door. “You can do this.”

She swallowed hard, gave Dad one last look, and then stepped inside the store. The place smelled like cleaning supplies and food. At the back of the store, she thought she saw a counter where people could buy sandwiches.

She frowned. Eating a sandwich sounded much more fun than asking for money.

Slowly, Olive walked to the counter, where a clerk—an older lady with pale blonde hair piled atop her head and a dark blue smock—smiled down at her.

“Well, hello there. What can I help you with?” The woman had a Southern drawl and gave off grandmotherly vibes.

Olive wondered a moment what it would be like to have grandparents. She’d never known hers. Sometimes, she felt jealous of her friends who talked about the time they spent with their grandparents—on holidays and vacations and weekends. How they were spoiled with candy and cookies and slumber parties.

Olive held up the jar. Her hand trembled along with her voice as she said, “I’m collecting money.”

“Money?” The clerk tilted her head. “For what? A fundraiser?”

“I’ve been sick, and my family needs help paying our bills now.” Olive forced her words out. “My dad’s missed too much work, and I don’t want my sisters to go without food.” Her voice cracked.

The woman’s eyes widened with alarm. “Oh, sweetie. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Olive’s eyes welled with tears. Not because she was poor and sick—but because she hated every moment of this. She hated feeling helpless to do anything but obey. She might be young, but this felt wrong.

The clerk glanced through the large windows at the front of the store to the sidewalk outside. “Are you here alone, sweetie?”

“My dad’s outside. He . . . he said this is hard for him.”

“I bet it is.” The woman reached into her pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and dropped it into Olive’s jar. “Here you go. Maybe this will help just a little.”

“Thank you.” Some of the pressure left Olive’s chest.

It had worked. All Olive had to do was ask for money, and someone had given it to her.

The clerk had thought Olive was upset about being sick. Really, Olive was upset about having to ask for donations. The clerk didn’t know that, however.

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