wearing her down. “Fine,” she said.
“Go and get a toffee apple.” I ran,
got a toffee apple, came back, and
put it on the counter at the
checkout.
“Add this toffee apple, please,”
I said.
The cashier looked at me
skeptically. “Wait your turn, boy.
I’m still helping this lady.”
“No,” I said. “She’s buying it for
me.”
My mother turned to me.
“Who’s buying it for you?”
“You’re buying it for me.”
“No, no. Why doesn’t your