I carry my Kisses = $1 sign into the schoolyard and lean it against a wooden bench. I made it very pretty, by painting one corner with two pink love hearts, and decorating the other with a yellow flower.

I stand an old cookie tin next to it. That’s for collecting all the money.

A sudden blast of icy cold wind makes me feel as if my teeth are about to start chattering. The zip of my jacket is busted so I pull the ends tighter around my neck, but it’s so thin it makes no difference.

I wish I could be like that beautiful lady I saw on TV. She was selling kisses from her booth at the Funfair. Laughing and flicking her long blonde hair back while calling out to the men to come to her. But I’m so nervous my stomach feels like there are butterflies flying around.

What if no one wants my kisses?

When I see some kids point at my sign and start walking towards me, I quickly smooth my hands over my chocolate brown hair. It’s not blonde, but it’s shiny and smells good because I washed it last night. Even I know nobody wants to buy kisses from a girl with horrid hair.

If only it wasn’t so chilly, I wouldn’t need my jacket. It makes me look poor. I know that. Mom says she’ll take me to the charity store to get another one soon, but she’s been sick a lot this fall and I don’t want to bother her. Anyway, I hate going to the charity shop. All the clothes there stink of armpits.

It would be really nice if we could buy things from a real store, but Mom says we can’t afford them. Dad doesn’t work anymore and there’s never any money because he drinks away what little we have. Before I started sticking cotton balls in my ears so I could get some sleep, I used to hear them fighting. Or he would shout and she would cry. Really hard.

Mom says it’s easier for him to drink and feel happy than it is to face up to what his life is really like. I think that’s stupid. His life stinks because he drinks like he does, and he can’t keep a job because he’s always drunk. Then he spends what little money we have on beer and whiskey.

It’s pretty obvious to me what he should do. He should stop drinking. But what do I know? I’m only eleven and grown-ups don’t listen to you until you’re at least twelve.

When I grow up, I’m never going to drink. Not ever.

Especially now, that I know it can make a grown man cry. Like Dad did last night.

Hugging my younger brother and me, he sobbed about how sorry he was for the water stains on the ceiling, our crummy little house, and the carpet that’s so worn down you can see the stuff underneath that holds it all together.

I told him it didn’t matter. No matter what happens, I’ll love him forever.

He hugged me and said I was the best daughter in the whole world.

When he said that I cried too. I told him I loved him to the moon and back. I even lied and said I didn’t care that we’re poor. I know it would hurt him to know that the kids always make fun of me for being poor.

But not the boys who are starting to gather in front of me. They’re not making fun of me right now, even though some of them are the ones who usually do. Today, right now, they’re looking at me with interest. It seems as if they like me enough that they all have a dollar to give me for kissing them. I do a quick count.

Fifteen boys. Wow! Fifteen dollars!

I know it isn’t enough to get me a brand-new jacket, or buy anything important, but I could maybe get a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese for dinner tonight, and a little milk to make it with. It would help Mom, and it would mean she wouldn’t have to cry when she makes us eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again.

Until a month ago, Mom used to take food out of the supermarket dumpster. I know it sounds disgusting, but the food wasn’t rotting or anything. The supermarket throws out loads of perfectly good stuff all the time. Meat, vegetables, bread, fruit. Even ice-cream. We have to freeze it back again, of course, but it doesn’t matter because it tastes just as good.

We used to have really good food then. Mom used to make all kinds of tasty meals with what she found in the bins.

But one night, the security guard caught her doing it, and now they lock all their bins. Dad says it’s the stupid regulations in this country, but I don’t understand why they would do that. Why would they want to throw it away when we are starving? Actually, I’m really worried about Mom’s health. I don’t want her to become even skinnier.

Still, if this works, I could do it tomorrow and the day after that…

“How much for a kiss?” Robbie snickers. He’s in my class and he’s stupid.

I try not to roll my eyes as I point to my sign where it clearly lists the price. “A dollar.”

“How much to show us your boobs?” he asks with his stupid laugh.

Some of the boys snicker and look sly, and the girls who are standing around in groups look like they have just smelled their own stinky farts.

I know they think I’m a slut or whatever for doing this. They don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter what they think. They’re all mean, anyway. They’re even mean to each other which I don’t understand. They’re supposed to be friends. I wouldn’t want to be friends with somebody who was mean to me, even when they were smiling. They’re not smiling right now. They’re muttering things to each other and shaking their heads, and wrinkling their noses the way they do when they see the food I bring for lunch every day. They’re the reason why I eat in the stairwell now.

Suddenly, I don’t feel good anymore. I feel sick. Dad taught me a long time ago, when I was really little and he didn’t drink as much as he does now, that if there was ever something that gave me a sick little feeling in my stomach, that it was my inside voice telling me what I was going to do was a bad thing.

My inside voice would always know, he told me, even if the people around me were all daring me and telling me it would be okay. All I need to do is check in with my stomach and see what it thought. So, my stomach is telling me this isn’t right, but I want our family to sit down to a macaroni dinner tonight.

I glare at Robbie and jut my chin out angrily. “Don’t be so stupid. This is a kissing booth.”

“I’ll go first,” Zack announces, stepping forward. He’s in my class too, and he’s always so pushy, but he has a dollar and I need that dollar.

I nod and tell my stomach to shut up because you know what’s worse than butterflies flying around telling you you’re doing something wrong. When your stomach is empty because there is no food at all for dinner, and you have to go to bed and hope sleep comes fast, so you don’t have to feel hungry anymore.

I take his dollar and put it into my tin. When I look up, all the boys are pushing and shoving to get in line behind him.  

I take a deep breath and nod at him.

Zack leans forward.

I close my eyes when he presses his lips to mine. It doesn’t take long and he smells of chocolate, so that’s good. When it’s over, he gives me the dollar and walks away smiling proudly.

I make a big deal of smiling too and acting like this doesn’t bother me at all, as I wave the next boy forward. Now that I know how to, I kiss him really fast to get it over with, and move my head back.

As I turn to put the dollar into my tin, I feel someone watching me.

It is a boy. He’s wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans and he is leaning against the wall of the school building, his arms crossed over his chest. And oh, my gosh! He’s so handsome it’s freaky. His dark hair is so thick and perfect. Blue eyes. I’ve seen boys like him on TV and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to see one in person.

I can feel him staring at me as I kiss the next boy. I don’t know if I should look at him, or pretend that he’s not even alive. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help looking over at him as the kiss ends.

The next boy steps up as I’m staring at the boy across the schoolyard. I can’t tell if he’s just interested in watching, or he wants to come over and get in line. I can feel the skin on the back of my neck get all prickly when I think about what it would be like to kiss him.

He’s so, so cute.

But I have to think about the boy standing in front of me, so I turn and look at him. And my heart sinks a little. He’s not in my grade, and I don’t know his name, but I know him by sight. Everybody does. It’s hard to miss him. He wears thick glasses, weighs a million pounds, and has a mouth full of ugly metal braces. I don’t want to kiss him.

But he has a dollar. I can see it in his hand, sort of crumpled up.

My eyes swivel over to the handsome boy. He’s still standing there, just watching, and my cheeks start to burn. I wish he wouldn’t watch this part. What’s he going to think of me? He looks older, a lot older, like the fat boy in front of me. Maybe they’re in the same grade. I would die. I would just die. Why can’t he go away? Or if he’s going to hang around, why doesn’t he get in line?

I want to be kissing him. Not the boy in front of me. I can’t help it but suddenly, burning tears come into my eyes. I can’t stop them. They roll down my face. I’m so ashamed, I want to crawl into a hole and die.

And he sees it, the boy in front of me.

I know he must think I’m crying because of him being who he is, but really, I’m not. I’m crying because I shouldn’t be kissing all these boys. I’m crying because I know Dad won’t like it if he knew—because I wish I could be like all the other girls and only kiss the boys I like.

Even through my tears I see his face fall and I start feel bad for him too. I know how he feels. He must get teased a lot for being fat just like I get teased for my clothes and the food I eat. He frowns and looks at the ground, and now I feel worse, so I start crying for real. Big, hot tears that roll quickly down my cheeks and drip onto my stupid, worthless jacket. I know I should stop, but I can’t.

Then, the fat boy does something odd. He reaches into his jeans and pulls out a bunch of money all crumpled up, and shoves it into my cold palm. “Go home,” he says.

“Huh?” I hiccup.

“Go home.” He doesn’t say anything else.

I don’t need him to, anyway. I have all this money, and there’s no way I can face everybody in school again today. Maybe not ever again. I just want to die. I take off at a run and I hear the kids still waiting in line grumble and curse because they didn’t get their turn.

I hear something else, too, as I run past the wall where the handsome boy is. I hear him calling out to me.

“Hey, kid!”

But I can’t look back. Not at him. I’m so ashamed. All I can do is run with the money clenched in my fist as tight as I can hold it to be sure I don’t lose it. I run all the way home.

* * *

I didn’t have to worry about going to that school again, anyway.

The next morning, some people from Child Protection Services come to the house. They bring two policemen with them. They say they received complaints that I was selling my body in the school yard. They speak sternly to my parents, and throw around words like unfit parents, stealing food from the dumpster, and foster families.

They speak to me gently and tell me they’re taking me away to live with another family.

Mom screams hysterically at Dad to do something. He puts his head in his hands and cries, but he doesn’t tell them to get out of our house.

I tell them I don’t want to go, but they drag me away kicking and screaming.