Class(42)
“Thank you,” Mia answered, then turned back to her seatmate, a stocky girl with pigtails, a heavy jaw, and half-moon shadows under her liquid eyes. Karen had seen the girl many times before but hadn’t yet attached a name to the face. Mia began whispering in the girl’s ear, causing Karen to worry that Ruby would feel excluded. Yet Ruby didn’t seem particularly bothered. Or maybe she hadn’t even noticed, preoccupied as she was with Karen’s phone, which she’d brazenly taken out of Karen’s bag and begun to play Candy Crush on. So Karen tried not to care either. And when Mia and the other girl stopped whispering, Karen leaned into the aisle and said, “I’m Ruby’s mom. What’s your name?”
“Empriss,” the girl replied.
“Hi, Empriss!” said Karen, mentally scrolling through the class list that had been distributed at the beginning of the year and recalling with sudden fascination that Empriss Jones was the girl who lived in a family shelter for victims of domestic abuse. Karen knew this because, for fun—if that was the right word—she would occasionally, secretly Google-Earth her daughter’s classmates’ street addresses. That was how she knew the shelter was located in a five-story salmon stucco building with filthy windows draped with white sheets and nary a tree in sight on the street out front. It faced a highway on one side and a bus depot enclosed by a chain-link fence on the other. Stealing another glance across the aisle, Karen noted with curiosity that Empriss was dressed in clean leggings and a hoodie and what appeared to be a pair of brand-new Nike sneakers with bright white laces. The only detail that was amiss was that her Frozen T-shirt was several sizes too small. When she raised her arms, a substantial subsection of tummy spilled out over the gap.
Finally, the bus pulled up in front of the botanical gardens, and the class disembarked. The tour guide was a fashionably butch young Korean woman dressed in a baseball cap, a vintage windbreaker, and ripped jeans. In a booming voice, she introduced herself as Meghan, then began to apologize. Owing to the exceptionally cold winter and late arrival of spring, it turned out that nothing was blooming that was supposed to be blooming, including the cherry blossoms that the class had specifically come to see. (The third-grade science curriculum was all about the life cycle of flowering trees.) Not surprisingly, after twenty minutes of traipsing through fields of wet leaves, the kids began asking when they could eat lunch. But Miss Tammy told them they were being disrespectful to Meghan, who continued to apologize as she took them through the gardens.
Finally, Meghan led them to a basement area beneath the administrative building. Wet, cold, and now ravenous, the children sat down at metal tables and tore into the brown bags that Miss Tammy had asked them to bring from home. Ruby and Karen sat across from Mia and Empriss. As Ruby peeled open her YoKids organic yogurt, and Karen dug into her quinoa, feta, and heirloom tomato salad (she had also brought blueberries), Empriss unpacked a thin white-bread sandwich with a fluorescent orange interior, a vending machine–size bag of Cheetos, and a sugar-sweetened “grape drink.”
“Ew—your lunch looks disgusting,” Ruby blurted out while unwrapping the organic Applegate turkey sandwich on European rye that Karen had made her earlier that morning.
“Ruby! Don’t be rude,” cried Karen, fearing that, in her quest to preserve both the health of her daughter and that of the planet, she’d inadvertently turned the former into a hideous food snob. Never mind that Karen’s own stomach had rolled over at the sight of Empriss’s neon lunch.
“It’s just ham and cheese,” said Empriss, shrugging.
“Just ignore her,” said Karen to Empriss, trying to make amends. “My daughter is a totally fussy eater.”
“I’m not fussy,” Empriss said proudly.
“Well, good for you,” said Karen, pleased to have finally engaged her.
“The only thing I don’t like is vegetables,” Empriss went on.
“Not even carrots?” asked Karen, feigning surprise.
“I hate carrots. Once, my mom and me went to Super Wings, and she said, ‘If you eat a carrot, I’ll give you a hundred dollars.’”
“I hope you ate it! That’s a pretty good deal.”
“Nah, I felt like puking when I tried to eat that thing. But I should have.”
“Well, I think carrots are crunchy and delicious,” said Karen, attempting to strike a playful tone lest Empriss think she was lecturing her. “Do you like fruit? Fruit is healthy too.”
“Yeah, I like fruit,” said Empriss. “Especially bananas—like Nicki Minaj.” She smiled toothily.
“Bananas are healthy,” said Karen, ignoring the pop-culture reference, which she didn’t understand in any case.
“I like fruit juice too,” declared Empriss.
“Well, that’s not as good for you as fruit,” said Karen.
“Well, you gotta drink something!” said Empriss.
“Mom, do we have to talk about healthy eating all the time?” asked Ruby, rolling her eyes.
“What about water?” asked Karen, ignoring her daughter.
“We don’t have water in our apartment,” said Empriss.
“What?” cried Karen. “But what if you’re thirsty?” Despite a decade working in poverty relief, she never ceased to be shocked by tales of privation in the developed world.